


In Search of Refuge

by VillainousShakespeare



Category: Crimson Peak (2015), Crimson Peak (2015) RPF
Genre: Angst, Drama & Romance, Eventual Sex, Eventual Smut, F/M, Gothic Romance, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-03
Updated: 2020-06-22
Packaged: 2020-11-07 21:58:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 70,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20824469
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VillainousShakespeare/pseuds/VillainousShakespeare
Summary: A disastrous carriage accident leaves Rose stranded in a snow storm. Desperate to find shelter from the elements, she stumbles upon a run down estate and throws herself on the mercy of its owner, Sir Thomas Sharpe.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lovely1234](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lovely1234/gifts).

> I am going to try and keep this short(ish), but that is not my forte. Will add tags as I go, as it will get smutty in a bit. Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Inspired by a request from @lovely1234 to add Thomas to a different fic I am writing, I decided to give him his own instead! :)

The wind howled through the opening in the roof, moving gusts of icy air to stir the detritus littering the floor of the dilapidated entry hall. Rose hugged her velvet traveling cloak closer around her body, trying to shut out the worst of the chill seeping its way into her bones. She had been so relieved to see the massive pile of stone rising from the bleak landscape, sure that this long nightmare was soon to end. The more fool her. 

When her carriage had begun to swerve on the frozen ground she had clung to both her dowager companion and the door handle, sure that they were about to meet a bloody end. Her fears had seemed well founded when the body of the conveyance smashed headlong into an outcropping of rocks and flipped onto its side. 

Her head pounded from where it had slammed into the wall, and a thin rivulet of blood ran down the side of her face. More concerning, however, was the fact that her companion Mary’s leg seemed to be broken. Even more horrifying than that, their coachman was lying unconscious in a heap where he had been thrown free in the wreck. 

There had been nothing for it, it was up to Rose to venture out and try and find assistance. Dragging the driver back to the carriage with extreme effort, Rose wrapped him and Mary in the large fur blanket, took a long swallow of the flask of spirits she had found in his pockets for warmth, and struck out on her own in search of rescue. 

All of which had lead her to the mirage of safety which was this house, and which on closer inspection seemed to be no safety at all. Surely such a poorly up-kept manse must be deserted. In despair Rose sat down on the once grand staircase and lowered her head into her hands, finally on the verge of weeping. 

When a hand came down to rest on her trembling shoulder, Rose shrieked our and jumped so hard that she almost fell of the step. 

“My sincere apologies,” a tall, dark haired vision of a man murmured softly to her. “I did not mean to frighten you.”

”Who... who are you?” Stammered Rose, half convinced that the devilishly handsome form before her must be a ghost.

”Given that this is my home,” he said in that same soft, gentle voice, though not with out a wry twist of humor, “don’t you think perhaps I should be the one asking that question of you? But forgive me,” he went on before she could respond, sweeping her the model of a perfect bow. “That is not very gentlemanly of me. It is just that we do not get many visitors here. I am Sir Thomas Sharpe, Lord of Alerdale Hall.”

”It is you who must forgive me,” Rose apologized, curtsying in return. “I am afraid you startled me out of my manners. My name is Rose Dewlawn, and I hope you can forgive me for barging in uninvited. I did knock, but there was no answer, and it was so very cold outside...”

Rose trailed off, realizing she was babbling. Sir Thomas was smiling at her with kind, rather sad eyes that were a remarkable blue grey under his dark curls.

”No need to apologize,” he assured her. “I am afraid we are rather short of staff here. As you can see, the Hall has known better days. With my sister and our menial off to town, it is only myself and one stable hand at home. As I said, we rarely have callers, and so were not listening for the door. May I be so bold as to ask what brings such a lovely young gentlewoman to my door step?”

”Mary!” Rose gasped, suddenly remembering her older companion trapped in the snow. “Oh, Sir, I am afraid we are in desperate need of assistance!”

”We?” He queried, raising a delicate brow.

”My carriage crashed,” she explained in a rush. “We swerved on the ice and were overset after crashing into a tree. My companion, the Honorable Mrs. Jennings, and our coachman were injured in accident.”

”It appears you were hurt as well,” he said, noticing for the first time the track of blood at her temple. “Forgive me, Miss Dewlawn. Please, come into the drawing room and be seated.”

”There is no time!” She fretted, brushing off his proffered arm. “I had to leave them in the carriage; neither of them could walk. Please, Sir Thomas, we must go back for them!”

"My dear woman, you are chilled to the bone," he told her in a soothing tone of voice, concern heavy in his eyes. "I promise you I will send assistance to your companions. But you will help neither of them by collapsing yourself before you can tell me their whereabouts. Please, Miss Dewlawn, for their sake if not your own, come and sit."

Against her instincts Rose allowed the handsome stranger to lead her into an adjoining room. This one was slightly more intact than the entryway, though a shabbiness still clung to the space like a choking vine climbing over the walls. Sir Thomas gestured her towards a faded red sofa covered in worn velvet and she sat gratefully down. A large fireplace was aglow on the near wall, and he excused himself to stoke the blaze, providing her with much needed warmth. She had not realized just how true his words were. She was chilled to the bone, both physically and mentally distressed by the events of the day. If she was not careful, Rose realized, she would start to weep and she was not sure she would ever stop.

"Now," Sir Thomas said, coming over to wrap her in a large soft blanket, "where can we find your friends?"

When she had provided him with the direction of the crash, Thomas left the room to go in search of his servant. This left Rose alone for a space of time in which she could examine the room she occupied. It must once have been a majestic home, she realized, looking at her surroundings. She could see pale spaces on the wall where paintings long hung had obviously been removed, sold if she were to hazard guess, to pay for the upkeep of the mammoth estate. The one notable item that was not in a distressed state was a large piano on the far side of the room from the entrance. The instrument was polished to a high shine, looking quite out of place in the otherwise neglected environment. Sheets of music stood stark white and black on the stand, and a comfortable looking bench with a padded cushion was set before it. 

Unable to resist, Rose stood and crossed to the piano, running one hand over the keys and plunking out a note. True to her prediction the note rung out pure and lovely. Sitting down on the bench she stretched her fingers out, glad that the blood was flowing freely in them again, and then began to play the song set before her. 

It was a sad, wistful sounding tune in a minor key, and Rose could not shake the feeling that she had heard it somewhere before, in a dream perhaps, or a memory as faded as the room's upholstery. As it always did, the music began to overtake her, and she lost herself in the sound of the sadness coming from the ivory keys and hidden strings. It was not until she had finished the song that Rose realized she was crying after all, but quiet tears of relief.

"You play beautifully," Sir Thomas said from the doorway, causing her to gasp and spin once more. "I am sorry, I don't mean to keep startling you."

"I'm afraid my ordeal has made me rather jumpy," she confessed, looking guiltily at the piano. "I am sorry for playing without your permission."

"You have nothing to be sorry for," he assured her. "I myself have always found music to be soothing in times of anxiety."

"You play?" she asked.

"I regret not," he sighed. "My sister is the musician. I am but an avid listener. Our mother, save her, was a gifted musician and passed that along to Lucille. I'm told when I was a child the sound of them playing was the only thing that could calm me down when the wind howled."

He had crossed the room to stand next to the piano, and therefor Rose, and she found herself looking up once more into his intense blue stare. She had not realized until that moment precisely how tall he was, nor how extraordinarily good looking. His face was pale, but rather than make him appear sickly it simply created a striking contrast with his night dark hair. Razor sharp cheekbones in a refined face were only slightly softened by the curls framing them. His clothing, like the rest of his possessions, looked as if it had once been the height of fashion, well made of the finest materials, but had obviously been mended. Still, for all the distressed nature of his attire he still managed to look the very picture of a nobleman. 

"I have sent Haynes to find your friends," he told her, a small smile on his expressive mouth. "I fear it likely that they will not be able to make it back here. The storm is getting worse, you see."

"What will he do?" Rose asked, anxious for her companions.

"The town is but a short distance away from where I believe you crashed. Had you walked in the other direction, you would have found it rather quickly. I fear it was simply bad luck that led you to this direction and to my door. He will bring them there and summon the doctor."

As Rose looked at the strange man standing before her, she found it hard to condemn the fate that had brought her here. The thought that she was all alone here with him should have made any well bred lady swoon in horror, but truth be known there were all kinds of other feelings causing her to feel faint instead.

"You said your sister was in town?" she asked, mouth suddenly dry.

"I fear so," he confirmed, seeming to have suddenly come to the same realization as she - that they were all alone. "Miss Dewlawn, I promise you have nothing to fear from me. I will guard your reputation as though it were my own."

"I am not afraid," she said, giving him a tentative smile as she realized it was true. "You have been nothing but kind to me and my traveling companions, Sir Thomas."

"Perhaps, if it is not too much of a breach of decorum for you, we might dispense with the formalities for the evening. You may call me Thomas if you wish."

"Thank you Thomas," Rose felt suddenly shy. "I am Rose."

"A beautiful name," he said, raising her hand to his lips in a formal salute. "It suites you."

Rose stood as if rooted to the spot, trying not to loose herself in his clear blue eyes. She could feel the pace of her heart accelerate as if she had been racing across a meadow back home, and her stomach was flipping in the most distressing way.

"Thank you," she said again, wishing her language had not chosen that moment to desert her.

"Shall I show you to one of the bedchambers upstairs?" he asked, making her breath catch and as a treacherous rush of heat coursed through her body. "You must be exhausted. There is a running bath, and I can see if Lucille has anything in her wardrobe you might change into. Though I must warn you, you are bound to swim in any of her clothing. She has nearly a head on you."

"That would be most kind," she nodded, forcing her mind away from the unchaste direction it had been headed. "Truly, you have been more helpful than I ever could have asked."

"It is my pleasure," he smiled, the expression lighting up his eyes as they crinkled at the corner. "Indeed, it is you who have done me a favor, Rose, saving me from my own sorry company this evening. Come, let us get you warm and rested, and then I will see what was left for dinner."

Taking his arm this time, Rose allowed Thomas to lead her back out of the room and up the large staircase. If she allowed herself, it would be easy to block out the neglected nature of the hall and to imagine them a grand couple returning to their home. Steeling a look at his divine countenance, Rose could not help a part of her wishing it were so. Perhaps it was not just an accident that had led her to his door. Perhaps, she thought rebelliously, it was her fate.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose makes herself comfortable and Thomas makes dinner.

Thomas slipped out of his coat and carefully rolled up his shirt sleeves, baring his pale, surprisingly well muscled forearms. He tried not to think of the beautiful miss in the next room, even now changing from her frosted garments into Lucille’s green velvet dressing gown, instead concentrating on finding the proper water temperature for the bath he was drawing. He let the water run for a bit to rinse the red of the clay out before inserting the stopper into the drain. 

She had looked so delicate, so lost as she sat on his staircase, trembling in the winter cold. Her presence was so unexpected that for a moment he had thought she was a ghost rather than a flesh and blood woman. Surely no corporeal being could appear as lovely as she did after trudging through a snow storm. And yet it was a human shoulder that his hand had landed on, and he could feel her breath against his skin as he stood close to her. She was alive, and she was beautiful and she was in his home. It might have been easier were she not at least one of those things. With Lucille stranded in town with their servant Gwen for who knew how long, and with the road away from the manor equally snowed in, the two of them would be left alone in the creaking house for what might be days.

“It is a bit big, as you predicted.”

It was Thomas’ turn to start, turning around at the unexpected sound of her voice. Rose stood in the hallway outside the bathing room, looking with longing at the steam rising from the rapidly filling tub. Lucille’s robe engulfed her small frame, making her look almost a child as she clutched it around herself, hands buried in the overly long sleeves. Thomas felt his mouth go dry at the thought that under the robe she would be completely bare. He was suddenly overly aware of his own state of partial undress, and tugged nervously at his loosened cravat.

"Miss Dewlawn," he said, unnecessarily, voice sounding rough to his own ears. "Pray, forgive me. I was adjusting the temperature..."

"And had no wish to ruin your coat," she finished for him, a shy smile on her mouth. "I quite understand. And you were right before, there is no point in upholding formalities, given the circumstances. Thomas."

His name sounded like a caress when she spoke it, and suddenly the steam filling the small room was making it difficult for him to breath. Wiping his hands on a small towel, Thomas gestured to the tub.

"I hope I have fixed the water to your liking," he said, sounding fatuous to his own ears. 

"I am sure it will feel like heaven after the day I have had," she assured him. 

"Well," Thomas looked around, subconsciously seeking a way to delay his departure. "There are towels for you, and soap next to the tub... If you require anything else..."

_Someone to wash your back, perhaps?_ a traitorous thought flit through his brain. Lord, he was acting as though he had never seen a woman before! Yes, she was pretty, with her honey colored hair escaping its pins to halo around her face, and her wide set eyes that seemed to swallow him whole when he gazed into them, but he was not a man to be bewitched by any comely face. It must be the circumstances, he decided. He could not remember the last time he had been given the opportunity to play hero, and he found the role rather appealed to him. He wanted to keep that look in her eye, the one that made him feel as though he could best a thousand demons to keep her safe.

"I am sure you have thought of everything," she smiled, looking in longing at the warm water. 

"Yes, well," he swallowed the desire he could taste, "I will leave you to it then."

As he stepped around her, Thomas could not help brushing against her ever so slightly, and was rewarded when rather than pulling away she seemed to lean into his space. Perhaps, he thought, he was not the only one feeling the draw. Not that he would ever act upon it, of course. He was a gentleman, and he had told her that her reputation was safe with him. Still, it was a balm to his ego to think that she might feel a fraction of the heat that was threatening to swallow him alive on this cold night.

He decided to allow himself one small glass of cognac as he stood in the kitchen preparing a simple meal for the two of them. If his proud ancestors could see him now, he thought with a sour chuckle. Reduced to chopping vegetables for his own supper. How far the mighty had fallen from when a legion of servants waited with groveling obsequiousness upon the vaunted Barons of the illustrious Allerdale Hall. And here stood their heir, not a single laborer to be found as the walls crumbled around him. If he didn't find a source of income soon, he would not be able to support even the four of them who now lived in the damned place.

Perhaps, a stray thought flew through his head, just perhaps, the young woman above stairs now, luxuriating in his bath, might offer a chance.

Ruthlessly, Thomas pushed the thought from his mind. He did not want to go down that road. He could hear Lucille in his mind, telling him how easy it would be. With his looks and charm, she insisted, it would be easy enough to find a wealthy wife. It happened all the time throughout the world in which they were born. What she didn't say, however, what she never said, was what she would expect from him after the bans had been said. He was not foolish enough to think that he would ever be allowed to live in peace in his marriage. He would not condemn any other soul to what marriage to him would bring, certainly not the sweet young woman who had turned to him for aid.

Of course, if she was his wife, how different might this evening be. He could just imagine himself up there with her now, taking the pins out of her hair and letting it fall about her shoulders, easing it with his fingers through the silky strands. Gently running his soapy hands over her smooth skin as he lowered his mouth to taste her lips. 

Thomas swore as he nicked his thumb with the knife. Served him right for letting his mind wander where it had no purpose going. The girl was a guest in his home, a gently bred young woman from all he had seen of her. She was not some strumpet for him to use for his own pleasure, even if only in his thoughts. 

"Sir Thomas?" a voice called from the next room.

"In here," he answered, searching the counter for a rag to staunch his bleeding.

Rose entered, looking around the dank room. She was still wearing the dressing gown, and her hair had been washed and brushed to tumble down her back in heavy damp waves. Thomas felt his face redden as he stared at it, his fantasy of moments before replaying in his mind. 

"I hope you are not a picky eater," he told her, looking at the simple soup simmering on the fire.

"That smells heavenly," she said, coming closer to inhale the aroma. "Oh heavens, you've injured yourself!"

"Just a scratch," he demurred in embarrassment.

"But you're bleeding!'

Taking his large hand in hers, Rose brought his thumb up to her mouth and sucked the blood from the slash he had made with the knife. Thomas drew in a shuddering breath, hoping he had not done so too audibly. The feel of her plump lips and wet mouth around his digit made every drop of blood in his body rush straight to his cock. The large room in which they stood was somehow lacking in oxygen, and she was standing unbearably close. Just a step nearer and his arm would be around her, pulling her into an embrace.

"Forgive me," she said, dropping his hand as if it had scorched her. "I am used to tending to my younger siblings, who are forever getting into scrapes. I should not have been so forward with you."

It was obvious from her abrupt change in demeanor that she had also felt the sudden shift in mood. Her eyes strayed to his lips, and Thomas flattered himself that there was a hitch to her breathing that had not been their previously.

"Well, you should wash that properly and bandage it," she said brusquely, turning away from him and beginning to vigorously stir the soup. "Why don't I finish up here while you tend to your wound."

"I did not mean to put you to work for you supper," he protested, brining his thumb to his own mouth and tasting just the hint of her on it. 

"I am quite capable of simmering a soup, I assure you," she replied, not quite meeting his eye. 

"If I didn't know any better, I would think you were trying to be rid of me."

"I simply do not fancy blood as a condiment for my food," she answered airily, eyes determinedly on the soup.

"Are you certain Rose?" he asked her playfully. "From the way you licked it from my thumb one would almost think you a vampire."

Thomas could not say why he teased her so. He desperately needed to leave the kitchen before she noticed the obvious bulge in his trousers. For some reason though he could not seem to resist. Perhaps it was the red which stained her cheeks, giving proof to the fact that she felt it too, this pull between them. Either way, it was a dangerous game to play and Thomas' conscience scolded him for it. With one last look to where she stood looking beautifully domestic preparing their dinner he took himself away to tend to his hand.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner at Allerdale Hall

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some background on Rose, plus a bit of flirting and fluff. Hope you enjoy!!! Love your comments!!

The soup tasted as good as it smelled, but Rose was having a difficult time concentrating on it as she sat in a small dining room off of the kitchen. Thomas had mentioned it had originally been intended for the servants, but considering the small size of their current household it made more sense to sacrifice grandeur for the convenience of not having to carry bowls of food through drafty corridors. 

It was not her surroundings that Rose was finding so distracting. She had, in fact, spent many years of her life eating around tables not much fancier than that which she found herself at now. Her family might be wealthy these days, but that was only a recent development. A number of canny business investments her father had struck in the last decade served to elevate them to the upper strata of society a non-titled family could obtain. Before that, they had lived a quiet life in a small cottage in the country.

No, Rose's distraction was based solely on the presence of the current Baronet of Allerdale Hall and the chaotic havoc he was playing with her. He was handsome, yes, that went without saying, (though she thought it should be shouted from hill top to hill top his looks were so extravagantly attractive), but she didn't think it was his physical beauty alone that drew her to him. She had known any number of handsome young bucks in London, after all, during those two depressing seasons her father had insisted she spend in the nation's capital. Rose had been courted by all sorts of gentlemen of the first stare of fashion. If none had been quite so good looking as Thomas, there were yet a great number who possessed exceptional looks.

And yet, Thomas was the only one who had ever made her heart flutter so madly, or her brain forget how to string one word into another in order to form a coherent sentence. In his eyes, as blue as the sky glinting off of the snow outside, there lurked a depth, an ocean of compassion and sadness, that she found herself falling helplessly into when ever he drew near.

It all made it very hard to concentrate on getting food ladled into one's mouth without dribbling it down the front of one's... well, one's borrowed dressing gown in her case. 

If only she hadn't been so gauche as to do that with his thumb! It might be the sort of thing she did for her ramshackle younger siblings, but Thomas was neither Reggie nor Sarah, and Rose should have known better - _did know better_ \- than to act so familiarly with a man not even related to her! The moment her tongue had touched his skin, she knew her mistake, but by then it had been too late. The ragged breath he had drawn had sent a strange tightness to her lower belly, and she found her own breathing quickening in response. She had overheard enough stray gossip of the servants to have some idea of what her unthinking gesture might have suggested, though she was not entirely sure of the particulars. It really didn't take all that much to guess, however, considering the _very_ interesting reaction she noticed in the front of his trousers.

Her mind kept straying to that reaction, and to what it might lead to, as they made small talk over their improvised meal. Thomas was a kind, interesting dinner companion, regaling her with stories about the house and his childhood growing there. It must have been a lonely place for a headstrong boy, she thought, with only his mother and sister for company. Stranded out in the middle of the clay fields, there were no other houses of note, nor even genteel cottages like the one she had lived in, for miles and miles. As for his claims that the house was haunted, well. Rose liked to think herself a practical girl. Surely he was only teasing her with those tales.

"And what of you, Rose," he asked at last, turning his somehow warm glacier gaze to her.

"What of me?" she asked, taken by surprise as she feared she had been caught staring a bit to long at his sensitive, expressive mouth.

"What brings you all the way out here to the ends of civilization?"

Rose frowned into her spoon. She did not want to tell him, did not want to even think about it herself. Still, he had been so kind to her, so open, that she supposed it would be churlish to not share her own story.

"I am on my way to be courted," she sighed, appetite suddenly gone.

"Indeed?" Thomas raised his active dark eyebrow in question. "I would think a young woman as lovely as yourself would not have to look so far afield for that."

"That is kind of you to say," Rose smiled dejectedly, "but I seem to have exhausted the potential suitors of London, Bath, and Bristol."

"I find that impossible to believe. You must have left a trail of broken hearts behind you," Thomas smiled kindly.

"A trail of disappointed bank accounts, more like," she said before she could think better of it. "Forgive me, that was indiscreet of me."

"No need. May I make so bold as to say, however, that any man who would court you for your money alone would have to be blind, a fool, or both."

"You flatter me, Thomas. Perhaps you are right. Perhaps there were some who wanted more than my father's money. Unfortunately there were none that interested me enough to find out. Each one of them was spoiled and lazy, living only for entertainment. I want more than that."

"What more?" he asked, sounding honestly interested.

"Oh, I don't know," Rose leaned back in her chair in a way that would have sent her mother into an hour long lecture. "Someone with a lively mind, who is more excited by... say... a new scientific discovery than a knew fashion of cravat. Or perhaps someone who reads more than the weekly gossip papers in order to pass the times. Maybe even, heavens forfend, a man who works for an honest living."

"You would prefer that?" Thomas stared intently at her.

"I know that being in trade is frowned upon by the beaux monde," she said, raising her shoulders helplessly, "but I am not so delicate. My father made his fortune with his wits. I don't know if I could be content, could be proud, of a man who merely inherited his. Perhaps that makes me lower class in my tastes, but I can not help it."

"I think it makes you commendable," he disagreed. "So you were on your way to meet a potential suitor? When your carriage had its unfortunate crash?"

"I was," she confirmed, thinking that, barring the potential injury to her companions, the crash was not at all unfortunate to her mind any more. "My great aunt lives a days journey north. Her godson lives with her. It is thought that we might suit."

"You don't sound particularly enthused about the match," Thomas noted.

"My family is," was all she said.

"Oh?"

"He is titled, you see," she smiled grimly. "And connected to the family. The thought is that if I can not find it in me to love any of the eligible bachelors who have deigned to court me, I might as well secure my family's further advancement by marrying into the aristocracy."

"A marriage without love," Thomas frowned, moving his finger back and forth over his lower lip absently. "Forgive me for my impertinence, Rose, but I would not wish such a fate on one such as you."

For the hundredth time since arriving bedraggled on his doorstep, Rose felt her face flush a bright scarlet. She was finding more and more as the evening went on that she did not wish for such a fate either. She did not want to marry a man as business transaction. She wanted... she did not know what she wanted, but she knew she wanted something.

"Rose?" Thomas asked suddenly, seemingly working up the nerve. "Tomorrow, would you perhaps like to visit my workshop?"

"Your workshop?" she echoed, confused.

"It is a strange request, I know," it was Thomas' turn to blush, "and not something most of our class would enjoy. It is my hope, though, that you might find it of interest."

"What sort of workshop?" she asked, intrigued.

"Oh, nothing too grand, I assure you. I like to invent, you see. To come up with contraptions. Most are silly, but some have proven quite useful. I'm afraid I am disproportionately proud of it. Lucille calls it my folly."

"But how wonderful!" Rose clapped her hands together in delight. "Must we wait until tomorrow?"

"I would show you it now, but it is in the attic, and drafty at the best of times. At night it is too cold for it to be at all comfortable. You... you really would be interested?"

"I would indeed!" she enthused. "I am only disappointed to have to wait."

"Well, if you are done with your dinner, perhaps we can retire to the parlor. There are a good many books, if you are tired of talking to me, and the fire should be warm."

Which was how she found herself comfortably curled up on a sofa, legs tucked neatly under her, reading poetry back and forth with the handsome nobleman by candle light. They began respectably enough, trading verses by intellectual poets of sterling reputation. By the time the candles flickered low, however, causing them to huddle together in the dying light, they had moved on to the romantic lines her mother would swoon to hear her recite. It was late, very late, when, her head resting against his shoulder, and her eyes drifting shut despite her best efforts to stay awake, when she heard Thomas read in soft tones:

“Good-night? ah! no; the hour is ill  
Which severs those it should unite;  
Let us remain together still,  
Then it will be good night.

“How can I call the lone night good,  
Though thy sweet wishes wing its flight?  
Be it not said, thought, understood --  
Then it will be -- good night.

“To hearts which near each other move  
From evening close to morning light,  
The night is good; because, my love,  
They never say good-night.”

And as his lips came down to gently brush against hers, she thought that she had never felt so happy, so at peace, in all her days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poem is Good-Night by Percy Bysshe Shelley


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas lets his mind wander to delicious places as the night draws to a close.

In the end Thomas carried her sleeping body up the stairs to the guest bedroom. He had stayed with her on the couch, her head resting against his chest as she drifted off into slumber. The rhythmic sound of her breathing as she went soft against him was almost hypnotic, and he was loath to interrupt so peaceful a thing of beauty as her face was in repose. 

Still, he knew she would sleep more comfortably in a bed, and so he had lifted her into his arms, careful not to wake her. Rose sighed a bit as he held her, nestling into his body, and he swallowed hard as a surge of desire pulsed through him. She was so trusting, this woman who had literally crashes into his life. He wondered how much of that was due to exhaustion. She was obviously beyond spent, not stirring as he climbed the steps to the upper floor. Indeed, she had not even seemed to waken all the way when he had impulsively let his lips meet hers at the end of the poem. It had been a mad thing to do, but rather than jump to her feet and demand an apology Rose had let her lips go pliant under his.

He wanted her. The thought sat in his mind heavy and relentless. Wanted her in every way possible. Not just her body, though that was certainly an attractive part of the package, but her sweetness and her innocence. He wanted to bathe in the untapped sensuality she exuded with every unconscious movement she made. To show her all the ways that a man and woman might enjoy each other.

Ignoring the desire, and with it the voice demanding he carry her to his own chambers, he brought her instead to the guest room across the hall. He had done his best airing it out; it had been years since they had needed to make use of it. Carefully he set her down on the sagging old bed, but her small hand had fastened tightly around a lock of his dark hair. Thomas sat beside her as he tried to coax her fingers open, but she had a remarkably firm grip. Giving in to the temptation, he allowed himself to lie down for a moment next to her.

A smile settles on Rose’ slightly parted lips as his long body stretched out along side hers. Thomas licked his lips as thought about kissing hers once again, but instead lowered his eyes away from the temptation. This proved to be a disastrous decision, as the dressing gown she was wearing had shifted in transport, the material now separating to reveal the gentle curve of her full breast. Nor was the lower half and relief as one shapely leg emerged from the opening.

He was in hell, he decided. As heavenly as it felt to be so close to her, the reality that all he need do was unknot the cord at her waist for her luscious body to be revealed, but that under no circumstances could he allow himself to take such an action, was torture. His rigid cock strained to find a home within her, and there she was beside him, mere inches away, ready to be taken and yet so far beyond his touch.

It didn’t really matter, the dark part of his mind spoke up treacherously. Even if he did not touch her, she had spent the night with him alone and unchaperoned. Her reputation would already be ruined, regardless of what they did. This being the case, why not indulge in all of the sweet sins of the flesh? There were so many things he could do with her, so many ways he could teach her to take and give pleasure. He would make sure it was good for her as well. Thomas was not a man to be satisfied unless his lover had been thoroughly sated in their pursuits. 

He could even marry her, after, if she desired. Lucille had been urging him to take a wealthy wife. Why not make it one who set his blood afire as well? They could make each other happy. He might be from a long line of nobility, but necessity as well as inclination had driven him to work. He loved tinkering, inventing, creating. He would show her tomorrow, he thought excitedly. Show her his private sanctuary where he let his inner light shine freely. A rich wife who didn’t look down on his work was a blessing he never had dared to hope for.

Closing his eyes, Thomas pictured it in his mind. Rose, he was convinced, would be fully supportive of his machine. He could use the capital she would bring to the marriage to perfect it. Once it was up and running, pumping the red clay from the earth beneath them, they need not worry for money. They could fix up the Hall properly, repairing the roof and hiring additional servants to run the house as it should be.

And at night, when he returned from work, Rose would be there to welcome him. She could play for him on the piano, new songs that did not sound dirge-like to his ears. He would read to her, selecting scandalous works so that he could see her cheeks turn pink with delightful shock. When they retired for the evening he would shock her further.

He would begin by seeing if the rest of her was as sweet as her lips, he decided. He found he was desperate to know in particular how she tasted between her soft thighs. Salivating as he imagined lifting her legs to wrap them around his neck, Thomas allowed his hand to drift down and palm over his hardened length. He would wager anything her nectar was delicious as honey. He would not stop until she had released it onto his waiting tongue, crying out in pleasure as he worshiped her with his mouth.

Only then, only when she was slick and open wide for him would he permit himself to free his straining member from his trousers. He would try to be gentle, to mitigate the pain as much as possible. He knew there would be some, as well as a bit of blood. He wished it didn’t add to the thrill to his excitement, but there was a dark and possessive streak in him he could not deny. It would be the proof that he was the first to ever have her. The first and the last. His cock alone would find a home within the gripping walls of her tight channel. He would be able to shape her desire and make it the perfect counterpoint for his own. Oh, but he would take such good care of her if she only surrendered herself to him. Even if and when the need arose to discipline her, he would do so lovingly, making her enjoy it in the end.

Unable to resist the play of images running through his mind any longer, Thomas rolled onto his stomach and began thrusting into one of the down pillows he had laid out for her. Careful to keep his grunts quiet as he pictured his engorged cock sliding in and out her virgin passage, he reached out with one hand and caressed her from neck to navel, praying that she remained asleep yet helpless to fight the need to touch her. It did not take long before a shudder passed through body and he came, still trapped within his clothing, to the thought of how her her walls would feel clenched around his cock as he drove her to her climax.

Panting in equal measures of pleasure and shame, Thomas closed his eyes once more and tried to push the self hatred out of his brain. He had just proven exactly why he was undeserving of so pure and bright a creature as the woman lying along side him. He was tainted, and would in turn sully anyone who came into his orbit. Oh, but he wanted to sully her. It was his last thought before he drifted off into an unintended sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, my brain and hormones just sort of took over with this chapter, lol. Let me know what you think! I love hearing your feedback!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morning arrives, and with it some unintended actions and reactions.

Rose had been having the most wonderful, the most _wicked_ of dreams. The kind her mama, and most certainly her most prim and proper companion Mary would never approve of. She was stranded in a castle... no, not a castle, that was not quite right... in a mansion, with a tragically handsome lord. He had offered her shelter for the night, but in exchange had demanded that she surrender her virtue to him. As much as she had wanted (at least on some level) to resist, she had been left with no other choice but to give in to his lustful cravings. His mouth on hers had been insistent, claiming her lips and awakening an instinctual response deep within her. When his hands began to roam her body, kneading her breasts with just the right amount of force, she began to forget why exactly she was supposed to resist such delicious sensations. From her very soul came a rich, needy moan of pure desire...

Which was when she awoke, muddled, with a painful throb on one side of her temple, and an altogether different throb between her legs. Not quite ready to surrender the naughty temptation of her dream, Rose kept her eyes shut tight as she began to return to reality. The bed on which she lay was lumpy, dipping down in the middle so that she and the other occupant had rolled together in the center, bodies pressed to each other.

Wait a moment... the other person... had she and Mary been forced to share a room at their night’s lodging? No, they had not made it to an inn, and the shape so intimately spooning her body was certainly not Mary’s sparse, bony frame. And the hand - gracious lord above! - The hand dipped inside the dressing gown she was clad in to cup her breast with its long fingers most certainly did not belong to any woman!

All at once the events of the previous night came flooding back to Rose. The carriage accident, wandering in the snow, happening upon the dilapidated house and then - Thomas. Thomas, with whom she had spent the most magical night of her life, talking and reading for hours. Thomas who, if it had not just been part of her dream, had kissed her ever so gently as she fell asleep in his arms. And Thomas, with whom she had apparently spent the night in a single bed, inviting the sort of intimacy that ought by rights to be reserved to marriage.

How had this happened? The last thing she remembered was drifting off to his reading, and that glorious kiss he had gifted her with. How had he ended up in her bed? Had she been so wrong about his character? Had he assaulted her in her sleep? Surely she would have waked... unless had drugged her! 

Rose forced herself to take a deep breath and calm down. She did feel as if she had been assaulted, and surely if he had done... _that_ to her, she would know. She knew the mechanics of the act, even if she had never engaged in it, and could not believe that, had it been done to her, she would not be able to tell. Especially considering she could feel him now, long and hard against the base of her spine. Good lord, there was no way on earth that would fit in her under the best of circumstances! If he had attempted it, she would feel cleft in two.

Reassured that Sir Thomas had not, in fact, violated her, Rose began to calm down and consider her present predicament. His hand on her bosom did not feel unpleasant. In point of fact, she rather enjoyed the way he held her in his large, capable hand, pad of his finger pressing gently but firmly against her nipple. And while the large erection that pushed hard against her back was certainly alarming, the feel of the man, warm and wrapped around her tightly, gave Rose a strange sensation of safety, as if nothing in the world could disturb her rest.

All of this, of course, did not answer the twin fundamental questions of how they had come to be like this and how she was to free herself without embarrassment. She _should_ free herself, she knew, even though she found an odd reluctance in herself to do so.

Carefully she turned her head, trying to get a look at him, and her breath caught in her body as she found the side of her face grazing against his nose and mouth, so close were they to her. When she had moved enough to be able to make out his tousled hair and a bit of angelic looking face, Thomas shocked her to the quick by turning her the rest of the way and crushing his lips to hers.

This was no wisp of a kiss like the one she hazily recalled from the night before, but an insistent, yearning, plundering of her mouth like the one from her dream. Too startled to react as she should and shove him away, Rose let her dream self return and opened to to his invading tongue, welcoming the strange sensation of it in her mouth. His large hand gripped her rear and held her in place while his hips ground into her leg. Her own arm seemed to snake around his neck, fingers twining in his lustrous black hair as she rode the wave of desire streaming through her.

”Thomas,” she uttered unthinkingly, somewhere between a gasp and a moan.

His eyes flew open as his mouth on hers froze. As horror suddenly filled the luminous blue orbs he leapt from the bed as if scalded.

”Oh my God,” He rasped, voice stricken and hoarse from sleep. “Miss Dewlawn, please forgive me!”

Rose lay on the bed in shock, staring up at gorgeous man who moments before had been kissing her senseless. Her fingers came up of their own accord to trace her lips, swollen and parted from his attentions. A wetness she could not quite explain pooled in her most private place, and her heart beat as though it was ready to burst forth from within her ribcage.

Thomas’ eyes slid down to her chest and he swallowed convulsively before forcing them back to her face. Glancing down, Rose realized that the dressing gown had come open during their embrace, displaying her naked and very aroused breast to the air. With a gasp she grabbed the material and drew it closed, feeling a bright crimson wash over her. No man had ever seen her in such an immodest state, and she felt completely wanton to be so exposed before his eyes. She had been so very close to giving him anything he might have desired on the bases of one masterful kiss, and she feared it was written all over her body.

”I... I don’t know what to say,” Sir Tomas stuttered. “Can you ever forgive me for such beyond the pale - such _reprehensible_ behavior?”

”How... why were you in my bed?” Rose asked, brain still shattered from the flood of emotions his kiss and its abrupt end had brought on. 

"You fell asleep down on the sofa," he told her, sounding miserable. "I carried you up, intending to put you to bed. Alone, I swear! But you had hold of my hair, and I didn't want to wake you. I lay down next to you for a moment, hoping you would release it as you settled. I must have drifted off to sleep. I swear to you, Miss Dewlawn, it was an accident. I never intended..." he trailed off, running his hand over his eyes.

"Do not trouble yourself, Sir Thomas," she said, trying to make light of the situation. "I know you would not do anything untoward."

Oddly, this seemed to upset Thomas more, and he groaned and turned away from her. Rose began to feel increased embarrassment. Of course what they had done was wrong. Very wrong! But it had also been sinfully pleasant from her perspective, and she had been finding it hard to regret it. Thomas, however, seemed horror stricken by the turn of events. Was she so undesirable then, she wondered? Did the thought of kissing her, of _feeling_ her disgust him so? Impossibly the blush afflicting her skin darkened as she contemplated this possibility.

"You would be within your rights to have me called out," he said stiffly, still not meeting her eye. 

"Now you are being preposterous," she told him, sitting up. "It was an accident, as you said, and no harm has been done."

"But the kiss," he groaned, sinking into a chair on the far side of the room, "I pawed at you like an animal."

"You were asleep, were you not?" she asked, making her voice as business like as possible. 

"I was," he admitted.

"You would not have done so otherwise, I assume?"

"No," he replied quietly, eyes haunted.

"Then their is nothing more to discuss. We will talk no more of it."

"Miss Dewlawn…"

"I find I am feeling a bit peckish, Sir Thomas. Tell me, do you think the two of us could sort out some breakfast?"

"Of course," he said at once, rising to his feet. "I will leave you to change. Your dress should be dried out, or there are one or two things in the closet that might suit. I will go to see to my own costume, and meet you downstairs in half an hour. Will that suffice?"

"Certainly," she said with a small nod.

Rose kept the tight smile plastered to her lips until he clicked the door shut behind him, at which point she threw herself face down onto the bed, and for reasons too difficult to face at that moment burst into a fit of tears

.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After tension filled night, a morning romp in the snow!

Thomas was no stranger to self loathing, but he thought he might have reached the absolute depths that morning. He could not believe that he had allowed his baser instincts to get the better of him so much as to take advantage of a young gentlewoman - and she guest in his home no less! It had to rank among the most despicable acts he had ever committed. In this mindset he entered his bathing chamber, taking perverse satisfaction in the obscenity of the dried cum still clinging to him as he stripped off yesterday's clothes and ran his bath. It seemed only right that he should be so soiled after pleasuring himself next to her sleeping form. Such a breach of etiquette was far beyond the pale, and yet still not a mark on his soul when compared to his actions this morning. He should be whipped for sullying her in such a way.

And yet...

And yet his mind kept straying to how she felt. Her body young, soft, and supple in his hands. The smoothness of her breast beneath his fingers, broken only by the pebbled stiffness of her nipple standing erect as he pressed over it with the pad of his thumb. Her hair a shining halo around her head, long enough to wrap around his hand and hold her still should the urge arise. The sweet curve of her ass filling his palm as he pressed her into his body. He could still feel every inch of her. Still taste her mouth, feel her tongue dancing with his as she gripped his curls and arched to him.

Thomas stilled his hand where it had been stroking over his hard cock. She _had_ arched into him, _had_ done more than passively taken his tongue into her mouth. Even when reality hit and the embrace had been broken, it had been Thomas who pulled away. Rose had lain there, cheeks flushed with arousal, breast bared for his eyes to feast on, lips parted with a sensuous desire, and eyes dark with lust. She had not, he realized now belatedly, looked in the least like a proper woman offended by a lecherous cad. She had not shrieked or struck him or even demanded an apology. She had seemed embarrassed, yes, but only once he had reacted with shame to his own actions. Until then, he was stunned to acknowledge, she had looked like nothing so much as a woman thoroughly enjoying a good ravishing.

None of this absolved Thomas of his guilt, of course. He was a gentleman and Rose was a young, innocent lady. He was fairly certain that his had been the first kiss she had ever received. As a man of the world and master of this estate it was his duty to protect her from every indecency, even himself. Even _herself_. 

And yet...

Reconjuring the image of her, spread out on the bed like a goddess for his personal adoration, Thomas allowed his hand to continue its stroking movement up and down. She was perfect. Just the right mix of innocence and wantonness. She might not know it yet, but that one kiss had been enough to show him that she was simmering with passion, just waiting for the right man to come along and light a spark that would set her ablaze. Had he not stopped, not been forced by a lifetime of habit, Thomas was fairly certain that he might have been that man. Leaning back in the tub and closing his eyes to block out everything but the memory of her body, he tightened his hold and imagined it was her tight walls gripping him. It did not take long before a fresh stream of white was spurting from his tip to dissipate in the water of his bath.

It was in a surprisingly good mood that he bounded down the stairs not long after. He had misbehaved, yes, but the circumstances had been extenuating. He had not wanted to disturb her rest last night, he mentally excused himself, she was sleeping so soundly. And this morning he had been asleep when he had trespassed beyond what manners and morals dictated. What was a healthy, red-blooded man expected to do when pressed against such an undeniably fuckable woman? And if said woman returned the embrace, who would not enthusiastically deepen it? If anything he was to be commended for breaking things off when he did and not following them to their natural conclusion.

"You look positively radiant this morning, Rose," he told her with an almost cheeky smile when he sauntered into the kitchen.

In truth, she did look just that. Her cheeks matched her name, flushed and inviting, whether from embarrassment or some other emotion he could not tell. While her eyes skittered away from him, her body language was not hostile, which he took to be a good sign. She had found a simple shift dress and tied it with a ribbon around her waist, then further altered it by knotting the hem on one side to shorten it and keep her from tripping on the extra length. By all rights she should have looked ridiculous, or at very least like a child playing dress up. Instead she was adorable. It didn't hurt that after this morning Thomas knew just how far from a child the body under the over sized dress was. 

"I am toasting bread," she said in response to his praise, face going an even deeper shade. "Is it too much to hope that their is some bacon we might fry up?"

"I am afraid so," he replied, sorry to disappoint. "They are but a part of the supplies my sister went into town to fetch."

He didn't like thinking of his sister. She was part of the real world, and for today at least Thomas was determined to keep that at bay. He was alone with a beautiful woman and she seemed, against all logic, to _like him_. He was going to indulge in the warmth that imbued in him for as long as he could. 

“I cannot offer you bacon,” he told her apologetically, “but if you care to brave the cold with me, we can see if the hens have been obliging enough to grant us some eggs.”

Minutes later, after draping a fur lined cloak over her dainty shoulders and slipping into his own wool coat, they emerged from the dark kitchen into the dazzling outdoors. Despite the cold it was a veritable winter wonderland. Snow still fell softly, adding new layers to the blanket that covered the ground and turned the trees into crystalline works of art. The crispness of the air added more color to her complexion, and her eyes seemed to pick up the sparkle of the snow.

Blazing a path with his own large boots through the knee high fall, Thomas tromped across the yard toward the chicken coop. He had always loved the first snow, how it made everything look clean and pure. At least until the red clay beneath began seeping through, staining it with a crimson blot. On mornings like this one, it always seemed as though anything were possible, as though he could escape the bleak existence fate had cruelly gifted him with. How much more was that feeling amplified now, with the lovely woman accompanying him, unaware of the dark history all around them.

A cold, wet splat on the back of his head and neck shook Thomas from his morning daydream. Jumping from the shock as he just barely managed to cut off an ungentalmianly curse, he turned to see Rose standing a few feet behind him, hand lifted to her mouth to stifle a giggle. She had pelted him with a snowball, the little minx! Well, she would soon learn the error of her ways! Eyes flashing he bent down to scoop up a heap of snow in his own large hands. Rose, suddenly seeming to realize her miscalculation, began edging backwards, eyeing him warily.

"I'm so sorry, Thomas," she said with fake sincerity. "The snow just slipped out of my hand!"

Thomas narrowed his eyes and stalked towards her, testing the ball he had formed in his gloved mitt.

"Please! I'm a guest in your home!" she laughed, skittering back.

"You should have thought of that before!" he told her mercilessly, and let fly his snowball, hitting her squarely in the chest, having decided at the last minute he was too much of a gentleman to aim for her face.

With squeal that seemed equal parts shock and delight, Rose shook the snow from her cloak and bent to grab up more of the snow. Thomas laughed at her moxie and rearmed himself. In no time at all they had regressed to children, pelting each other with frozen projectiles as they scampered around the covered lawn. Had any one been there to see, he thought, they would have thought them mad. Still, he could not remember the last time he had laughed so much. Rose had horrible aim, and the vast majority of her throws went sailing past him or died before reaching him. Thomas, on the other hand, was a crack shot with the snow. Before long she had been reduced to merely holding her arms up in front of her and closing her eyes to ward off the flurry of incoming snow.

Not one to let an opportunity go by, Thomas leapt across the space between them as she screamed in delight and grabbed her about the waist. Tipping them to one side, he brought her down into a high pile of a drift that had formed against the house. Holding Rose still in the soft, cold snow, he picked up a huge handful of the powder and held it before her face.

"Surrender," he instructed gleefully.

"Never!" she laughed defiantly, sticking her tongue out at him.

"Surrender, or this goes down your dress!" he warned moving the ice closer to where he had her pinned beside him.

"You wouldn't!" she protested, eyes going wide.

"Oh wouldn't I?" he asked, eyes flashing evilly. "Try me."

"Alright, alright!" she agreed breathlessly, eyeing the snow with trepidation. "You win! I surrender!"

Thomas savored the victory and let the snow fall out of his hand and onto her upturned face, laughing at her offended expression.

"That was not very sportsman like of you!" she pouted, blinking the flakes out of her long lashes.

"Of me?" he protested. "You hit me from behind without warning!"

"True," she allowed, smiling brightly. "All that black of your long coat made just too tempting a target to resist. Forgive me?"

She batted her eyes fatuously, making him smile wider. He loved seeing her this way, bright and happy. It brought out a side of himself that had been long dormant. The boy who had loved to frolic out of doors, brash and adventuresome, was feeling awake for the first time in years.

"Hmm... that depends," he raised a rakish brow. "I think I deserve a forfeit. Don't you agree, Rose?"

"A forfeit?" she asked, warily. "What did you have in mind?"

"You must agree first," he told her, smirking at her patently suspicious look. "It is only my due, having defeated you on the field of battle, despite being ignobly attacked. Don't you think?"

"Very well," she sighed at last. "What do you want?"

What he wanted he could not ask for. The rogue in Thomas might be coming back to life, but he was not completely gone to it yet. Still, opportunities like this did not come along every day. Looking into her bright, blinking eyes, he smiled with anticipation.

"Kiss me," he told her, and heard her gasp.

"I beg your pardon?" her voice was shocked, but not he thought offended.

"You heard me," he smirked. "Or are you a afraid, Miss Dewlawn?"

"I fear nothing," she said, raising her chin.

He was being unfair and he knew it he thought, confidence starting to leach out of him and into the snow. It was likely, after all, that she had never been kissed before last night. To ask her then to initiate such an intimacy was pushing her quite far beyond what he should do. Nervously she ran her tongue over her lips as her eyes went to his mouth. It was suddenly quite quiet and still in the yard, no sound but for soft swish of the slowly falling snow. Even Thomas' breathing felt suspended in his chest as he waited to see what she would do.

Finally, eyes large and round, Rose sat up and, placing one mittened hand behind his head, brought her lips gently to his. It was tentative at first, a mere press of mouth to mouth, but as Thomas' arm went round to her back to hold her up she sighed into the kiss, tilting her head slightly to one side and molding more into him. She did not rush, taking her time in a sweet, unconsciously teasing caress of her lips over his as their breath mingled together. When she at last pulled away, to stare up at him with a look at once uncertain and daring, Thomas wanted to freeze the moment in time, that he could spend the rest of his life in a magical winter world of snow and sunlight and one woman's kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked the fluff!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some lines are meant to be crossed...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello my dears! I am back!! Sorry I took a couple weeks off from this story, I was trying to figure out exactly where I wanted it to go. Hope you like what I decided on!

It was magical, Rose thought. A moment completely suspended outside of reality. Here she was, in a fairy land of snow, and a handsome prince was smiling down at her with hot, sparkling eyes. And she had kissed him. _ She_ had kissed _him_. Yes, he had dared her to, but she had done it. It was bliss. It was heaven. It was not nearly enough to still the thrumming of blood in her ears. She wanted more. Her body demanded more.

"Rose," her name on his lips sounded like a prayer as he whispered it softly. 

She could barely breath, looking up into his grey blue eyes, willing him to act. She was too innocent, she didn't know what to do. All she knew was that she wanted - _ needed_ \- more. More of him. After that morning when he had fled her room, she had feared he had taken her in disgust. She had been so wanton, pressing against him, letting him look his fill at her partially unclothed body. Surely the reason he had left so abruptly could only be contempt for such moral lacking. But then he had asked her to kiss him. Demanded it, in fact, as forfeit for her defeat. He was the first man she had ever allowed to kiss her, and now the first that she had kissed. She wondered, scandalously, what other firsts he might be willing to become.

"You must be cold," he murmured.

"Actually, I feel oddly warm," Rose told him from where she lay, half beneath him, in a heap of snow. 

"I know what you mean," he smiled at her. "However, the snow will soon be soaked quite through your cloak and dress..."

His voice trailed off as his eyes ran down her body, already wet dress molding to her contours. She knew she should be embarrassed, flinching away from his glance, but found herself instead arching her back slightly to more prominently show off shape under the open cloak. His quick eyes caught her movement, and his hand came down to brush snow off the bosom of her dress. If his hand lingered longer than necessity demanded, well she was not about to complain.

"We should stop," he told her, sliding his hand further inside her cloak to encircle her waist. "Tell me to stop, Rose."

Without saying a word, she angled her face towards him, lips parted, and silently entreated him for a kiss. If the previous one she had initiated had been sweet and sensual, his was hot and demanding. With a moan he reached out and laced his fingers through her hair, holding her still as he pressed his mouth aggressively to hers. She opened instinctually beneath him, allowing his tongue entrance that he took full advantage of. Rose was uncertain at first what to do in response, but as the kiss continued she tentatively began following his example, licking shyly back into his mouth. He seemed to enjoy this, going by the breathless gasp he gave out, and she grew in courage, soon kissing him back in earnest and loosing herself to the intense sensations the embrace inspired. It was only when he pulled away with a moan after she had bitten his lower lip teasingly that she realized her leg had wrapped around his waist and his hand had found its way down the bodice of your large dress.

"God, you are a temptress," Thomas groaned, face flushed and pupils blown. "But I will not deflower you in the kitchen garden like some scullery maid!"

"Where will you deflower me?" Rose asked without thinking, brain not seeming to be able to function.

"Damnation woman!" Thomas bit off, and standing quickly he scooped her up into his strong arms and strode back into the house, hens and their eggs completely forgotten.

It took no time at all before Rose found herself in a subtly masculine room on the second floor, decorated in browns and greens and burgundies and smelling of the man in who's arms she was currently held. Water dripped from both of them as he set her down on the ground next to the large canopied bed and took a step back from her.

"You will take a chill, if you stay in those clothes," he told her, voice rough.

"As will you," Rose said, licking her lips nervously.

"Rose," he took a deep breath and seemed to be drawing in all of his will power, "we have not yet crossed any lines that may not be disavowed. You can walk out of this room if you wish, and your reputation may still be saved. I will force nothing on you that you don't wish, and will go to my grave without telling anyone the few liberties that have passed between us."

He was giving her an out, and the irony was that all it accomplished was making her want him more.

"Do you wish me to walk out?" she asked, uncertain. "Is that what you are trying to say? If you do not want this... don't want me..."

Rose was startled by the wildness with which Thomas threw back his head and laughed. He sounded almost mad in that moment. Getting himself under control, he took a step towards her took claim of one of small hands in his giant grasp.

"Do not want you?" he rasped, devouring her with a look. "I want you with every part of my being, in every way and all ways. What I am trying to say is that if we begin this, if you allow it, allow me... I do not know if I will be able to stop once I have begun. My darling Rose, you have no idea how much I want this."

With his final words he brought her hand to his body and pressed it over the very obvious proof of his words, letting her feel the large, hard length of him through his sodden clothing. Rose drew in a sharp, startled breath as he held her fingers there, and then slowly she began to move them, tracing out the shape of him in a light caress. Thomas dropped his hand and let out a low moan as her hand moved over him, standing stock still while she continued her exploration.

"You will be the death of me," he finally groaned when she curved her fingers to better feel him. "But what a sweet, sweet death. Come, let's get you dry."

With what seemed to Rose to be painstaking slowness, Thomas untied her cloak and smiled as it dropped to a soggy pile on the floor. Gently he reached around and undid the ribbon belting her oversized dress. His hands then worked their way up her sides, raising her arms over her head and, with an indrawn breath, he lifted her borrowed dress off of her body and tossed it to one side. Rose stood there, shivering a bit from both cold and desire, in only a thin chemise, stockings, and boots. 

"So beautiful," Thomas breathed, as his hands made short work of his own jacket, vest, and cravat. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are?"

Rose shook her head mutely as she watched him tug open his white linen shirt. How this man, this Adonis made flesh, could call anything else beautiful was a mystery. Something of her thoughts must have shown on her face, as a wicked gleam flashed in his eye and he grinned at her.

"Lye down on the bed," he whispered, in a voice made to be obeyed.

As Rose followed his instructions, Thomas knelt down next to the large bed and took one of her dainty feet in his hands. He pulled off one boot and then the other, tossing them over his shoulder to join the rest of the discarded clothing. With a smile straight from a deliciously naughty dream, he pushed up her under skirt, revealing her long, slender legs, and with erotic slowness slid the stockings down each in turn, bestowing kisses as he went.

"This is truly the most glorious present I have ever opened," he told her as he stood back and looked at her, naked but for the diaphanous chemise that was now pushed up to her mid thighs. "It is like Christmas and my birthday all at once."

Rose made a slight whimpering noise, unsure now what was expected of her. The desire pooling in her core was overwhelming, and she feared she was beginning to make a mess of his bed linen. Ever touch of his on her body was electric, sending more want of... something through her nerves.

"My lovely Rose," he smiled crawling at last onto the bed with her settling himself, still largely clothed, between her legs.

And then there were no more words as he kissed her with all the passion his slow work undressing her had masked. His mouth was hungry and wet, biting and licking at her as his hands explored her body. Rose's hands came around him, tangling once more in his glorious dark curls as an anchor amid the explosion of feeling his kiss provoked. Once he had exhausted his exploration of her mouth, for the moment at least, he began to kiss across her jaw and down her neck, pausing occasionally to suck when he found a particularly sensitive spot. Rose, beyond coherent speech, was reduced to a series of moans and mewls as he worked her into a frenzy. She did not even know when her hands had moved around to begin undoing his buttons, simply that she was suddenly freeing the last one and sliding the fabric off of his well muscled arms. Thomas' hand had been busy as well, stroking up her leg and then, inch by inch, making its talented way to the small patch of curls at her apex. Rose gasped as he teased over her mound, breath coming in stuttering staccato. When his fingers dipped lower, she all but flew off the bed, but for his heavy form on top of her.

"Easy, love," he whispered, sucking on her earlobe. "I won't hurt you. Not yet. I just want to feel you."

Rose shuddered as he dragged two fingers through the slick wetness that had become of her lower lips, hoping he would not be disgusted by what he found.

"Oh, dear God, Rose," he groaned, "you are so wet. Oh, how I can't wait to be in you. Such a perfect, beautiful girl for me. Now, open up love, so I can feel you more."

With his words, he pressed his fingers deeper, where rarely even her own had gone, and Rose closed her eyes as the strange sense of fullness. His thumb was circling her little pearl, and the resulting tension was making her thrash on the mattress. Her mouth, seemingly of its own accord, found his long, graceful neck and latched on, sucking and biting at him to maintain her sanity.

"Just let go, sweetness," he whispered. "Let go and let me give you pleasure."

As his words washed over her, Rose felt her muscles all contract at once, and then suddenly shatter into a million pieces. She screamed out, wordless and primal, as sensation after sensation flooded her body. When at last she calmed down, still shaking but able to breath once more, Thomas was peppering her body with gentle kisses, his hand softly cupping her still spasming sex.

"Did you enjoy that?" he asked, smiling at her with a smug pride.

Rose nodded, eyes glazed. He kissed her again and stood quickly, reaching down to pull her chemise off of her body and over her head. He licked his lips as she lay there, naked and panting still to his sight. Realizing the unfairness of the situation, Rose sat halfway up and reached for his trousers, shaking hands undoing the fastenings. Thomas' eyes went wide as she worked, but he allowed her do it herself. When she at last managed the buttons and ties, she bit her lower lip and shyly pushed his trousers and smalls down to his thighs. 

She had never seen a cock before, a small part of her brain that still functioned thought. Not a human one, at any rate. Still, she would be will to bet that few would be so beautiful as his. It was hard and proud and frankly a bit terrifying in its size, but as she took it in her hand and began to stroke it, she gloried in the power it seemed to give her over this powerful man. Thomas' head was thrown back and his eyes closed, looking as though he were in prayer. His hips moved in time with her hand as she experimented in different rhythms and tightness of hold. When she brought her head down to brush a feather light kiss onto the tip of it, he moaned and fisted his hand in the bed sheets, body tensing over her.

"No more of that now," he told her, taking her hands and placing them beside her head.

"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, suddenly anxious.

"Quite the opposite," he chuckled. "Any less wrong and I would be done for. I will show you what I mean later," he added when she looked at him in question.

Settling back down between her now open thighs, Thomas dragged the head of his impressive cock through the mess of her wetness. He seemed to be holding himself together by a very thin thread judging by his breathing and the tension in his shoulders.

"I need you to relax now, darling," he purred to her. "I promise you it will only hurt for a moment."

Nodding in response, Rose did her best to relax as all her muscles screamed at her to tighten. Leaning down, Thomas took her lips again in his with a deep, searing kiss. As she melted into his kiss he pressed forward, and she felt the barrier to her innocence break. It was a sharp, brief pain that made her gasp, but once he was past she mostly felt... full. The sensation was strange but not unpleasant. Thomas held himself there, kissing her, letting her adjust to this knew intrusion into her body. When he started to slowly thrust with shallow movements, Rose's own pelvis rose up to meet him. It was all the encouragement he needed. Her legs rose to wrap around his waist and he began taking her in earnest, stretching her in ways she would not have thought possible, let alone pleasurable. It was, though, it was all pleasure with just the tiniest bit of pain. When he took her nipple into his mouth to suckle, it was one sensation too many for Rose and she found herself back in the stars, falling and flying all over again as her inner walls clamped down around the invading cock inside them. Thomas grunted, rhythm becoming erratic until he thrust hard and deep and she felt a warm wetness flow into the little remaining space inside her. He gave a few more frantic thrusts as she grasped him tightly to her, loving the feel of his body as it took command of her own.

She was his now. There was no turning back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed all the smut!!! Rose sure did!!! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas and Rose discuss what their actions mean for their futures.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I took a couple weeks to think about where I wanted to go with this, and I decided that I am not going to be completely true to the movie. While the relationship between Thomas and Lucille is still not healthy, I just really didn't want to include the incest in my story. So, now that I have decided that I leave it to you whether to continue reading or not. 
> 
> I love you all, and thank you for sticking with this!!!

Thomas was at peace. Really, truly at peace for the first time in longer than he could recall. His soul felt light, happy, and inordinately satiated. And all this because of the breath of fresh air that had swept into his home in the delectable form of the woman now curled up against him, head resting on his chest. 

She really was a vision. From her wildly mussed hair to the absurdly cute toes of her feet she was the perfect combination of wanton innocence. A maiden, pure and well bred, intelligent and talented, destined for an advantageous marriage with a noble member of the crème de la crème of society, and she had given herself freely, enthusiastically, to Thomas. He was undeserving, but very, very grateful for the honor.

Kissing her forehead as he wound an errant lock of her hair around one finger, Thomas lifted himself on one elbow to stare down at her face. She looked up at him and shyly met his eyes, adorably self conscious now after all she had let him do to her. The blush that stained her cheeks fit perfectly with her name, and she worried her lower lip between her teeth.

"Second thoughts?" he asked, knowing an anxious moment of his own.

"None," she shook her head and smiled, lowering her eyes. "If I am to spend the rest of my life as the wife of some frivolous lordling who wants me only for my money, at least I will do it having tasted real pleasure once in my life."

Thomas' first reaction was that of smug satisfaction that he had brought her, to use her words, real pleasure, despite the pain of it being her first time, but then the rest of her comment sunk in. The wife of a frivolous lordling? Then she still meant to go through with her family's plan? To meet this distant connection and form a marital alliance with them regardless of what she and Thomas had just shared? The very idea set his jaw clenching as an unnamed vermin seemed to gnaw at his guts. He did not want to think of some other man possessing the sweet body he had just so thoroughly enjoyed. Especially one who would want her only for mercenary reasons. Would they see and appreciate the depth of humor in her eyes? Hear her soul when she played music for them? Or would she just be a means to escape from piled up debts, and a body to plunder at night. A used body at that.

At the last thought Thomas' blood began to run cold. He knew how men of the noble class were. If one of them were to accept Rose as his wife, he would expect her to be untouched. When he discovered, on their wedding night, that another had beaten him to the bedding of her it would not go over well. At best he would make her life hell for having had the temerity to live a life before shackling herself to him. At worst, he would dissolve the union and make her a pariah, a fallen woman branded for all the world to see. It did not bear thinking.

"There will be no frivolous lordling," he said, mind quite made up.

"I beg your pardon?" Rose asked, voice sounding muddled still from the post-coital glow he had exposed her to.

"You will not be marrying him. Your relative's godson or whoever it is."

"I will certainly have to have a very frank conversation with him first, if he does come up to scratch," she sighed, rolling slightly away from him in embarrassment. "I would not do him such a turn as to let him purchase used goods without his full knowledge. But I am very rich, you see. He, or someone else, could still persuaded to take me even with my new besmirched status."

"No!"

"Oh, I did not mean to accuse you," she hastened to assure him, hand coming up to her mouth in concern. "Please, Thomas, I meant what I said. I have no regrets for what we did. I wanted it. Wanted you. Wanted to feel what it would be like to be with a man who desired me. Me and not my money. And whom I desired. I can hardly hide that from you now. Surely you know how beautiful you are, inside and out."

The words were both a balm and a curse to his ears. He so desperately wanted them to be true, wanted to be the man she saw when she looked at him. There had been so much darkness in his life. His mother, Lucille, the crumbling house that seemed to symbolize the moldering state of their psyche. All had been dank and putrid until she had entered and brought her light.

"You will not marry him or anyone else," he said implacably. "You will marry me."

It was the first proposal he had ever made, and it seemed somehow fitting to the sad state of his affairs that it be met with laughter. At least it was not mocking laughter, he was spared that out of the gentleness of her person, but it was hardly a resounding yes.

"Oh Thomas, thank you," she said when she had gotten her slightly hysterical giggling under control. "Thank you so very much for that. But it is not necessary. I did not seduce you into bed in order to trap you into a proposal. I promise you I did not."

"Seduce me... trap me?" Thomas' voice skittered up with shock and disbelief. "Damnation, woman, what do you think me? You are an innocent - or were until moments ago. I a man of the world. If any seducing was done..."

"And now I have wounded your pride," Rose sat up, wrapping the coverlet around her chest and pulling her knees up to her chin defensively.

Thomas took a large breath and steadied himself. He was going about this all wrong. Obviously the sheer bliss of being inside her heavenly warmth had scrambled his senses. Pushing his wayward dark curls back from his face he rolled out of the bed and crossed around until he was on her side. As he caught Rose's eyes appreciatively travel up and down his person as though against her will, he stood a bit straighter and felt his lower member doing the same, already almost hard enough to take her again, just from the glance. Smiling at her encouragingly, Thomas dropped to one knee next to the bedside and reached for her hand.

"Miss Rose Dewlawn," he said, as formally as one could when both parties were stark naked, "it would give me unmitigated joy if you would do me the great honor of becoming my wife."

She did not laugh this time, eyes going wide instead as her mouth dropped open in surprise. As if drawn by a tethered she leaned towards him, the coverlet falling to reveal the full breasts he had so recently suckled. He could see the wheels spinning in her head and flattered himself that at least a part of her wanted to accept. She had said herself that she was attracted to him. He possessed a title, if not a lofty one, and friendship between them had been easy from the outset. If the manor was not all that a bride would wish for... well, they could manage that once they were wed. 

"You need not answer me now," he told her, bringing her hand to his lips for a kiss. "All I ask is that you think on it. I know I am not the husband most ladies dream of, but you have said you do not mind my tinkering."

"Not at all!" she leapt at the change in topic. "In fact, you were meant to show me your workshop!"

"And I will do so," he smiled, pleased with her enthusiasm, though he thoroughly intended to have her again before leaving this room to go anywhere, even his much loved sanctuary. "Promise me, at least, that you will consider my suit."

"You do not ask out of a sense of obligation?" she fretted, eyes clouding at the thought.

"I ask," he told her, a predatory glint in his eyes, "because the thought of another man tasting this body that I have laid claim to makes me contemplate homicide."

"Tasting?" she echoed, confusion and more than a hint of curiosity in her voice.

"Yes, tasting," he grinned. "Lie back like a good girl, and I will show you exactly what I mean."

Coming to his feet with catlike grace, Thomas mounted the bed and gently pushed her back, tugging the blanket off of her lower body. Rose made a gasping noise as he spread her legs apart, letting them fall open. Taking a deep breath of the heady smell of their coupling, Thomas lowered his mouth and lapped a long stripe up her red and swollen lips. Oh, god, he had longed to know how she tasted, and now that he did he was determined that no other man ever find out. She was his. He would allow nothing and no one to take her from him. 


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas shows Rose his workshop, hopeful that she will appreciate the look into himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Life has been super busy the last month or so, so it is taking me longer to update my writing. Thank you all who have stuck with me on this story. I really appreciate all of you who read, comment, like, etc. You make me want to write more!!

Thomas could have happily stayed in the large bed all day, his long body curled around and entwined with Rose’s daintier form. It seemed however that the second round of love making that had left him feeling languid had infused energy into his partner. Rose sat up and stretched her limbs, blessing him with a provocative view of her arched back that went a fair way towards inspiring certain parts of him to spring to life again. She smiled self consciously when she saw his eyes traversing her body and a lovely blush stained her cheeks.

”Now that is a sight I could gladly become accustomed to,” he told her, absently stroking his semi-hard member.

”Oh dear,” she giggled, “what a wanton I am turning out to be! I hope I have not given you a disgust of me!”

”On the contrary!” He smiled, looping his arm around her waist and pulling her to him so that he could nuzzle at her neck, “Allow me to thoroughly encourage your lascivious inclinations. Provided, of course, that they only extend to me.”

”Well, certainly no one else has ever brought them out,” she blushed, filling him with joy.

”Good,” he growled. If he brought out her wantonness, she seemed to inspire intense possessiveness in him. “I want all of your carnal urges kept quite to myself. In fact, feel free to be as debauched as you please with me.”

”Yes, but not now Thomas!” She insisted, drawing away from him and rising from the bed. ”It is almost midday already, and you promised to show me your workshop! If we wait any longer the day will be gone and you will tell me it is too cold again!”

Thomas grumbled as she pulled him from beneath the heavy covers and to his feet. In truth though, he could deny her nothing at this moment, and her desire to be shown his pride and joy would have overcome his inertia in any case.

”My clothing is all soaked still” Rose sighed, toeing at the sodden pile of fabric tossed negligently to the ground.

”You do seem to go through dresses at an alarming rate,” he teased her, pulling on a pair of linen pants over his arousal. “I despair of finding you more things to wear. Perhaps you should just give up altogether and go naked.“

”Thomas!” She shrieked, adorably scandalized.

”Here, love,” he tossed her his own dressing gown before shrugging on a shirt. “I suppose we can’t have you catching cold, after all.”

”It smells like you,” she remarked, pulling the worn striped fabric tight around her body. The intimacy of seeing her there wrapped in his private clothing was almost more erotic than her naked form had been, and for a moment he moved to pull her back down onto the bed to have her again, but Rose was too quick and scampered off towards the door, sliding her tiny feet without stockings into her shoes on her way.

Groaning in a combination of frustrated desire and delight at her enthusiasm to see his work, Thomas tossed on woolen socks of his own and followed her out into the hall. When they were safely closed in to the elevator and the mechanism began its labored ascent, Thomas caged Rose with his body against the wall and drew her into him. She came so willingly, so _eagerly_, into his embrace that it was a wonder to him, offering up her lips for his kisses as though there was nothing to hold her back from him. He was humbled by her trust in him to protect her honor and swore silently that she would never have reason to doubt him.

As the elevator ground to a stop on the top floor, he drew a deep breath and opened the door, leading her into the one place in the world where he had ever felt secure. His life to date had been one constant string of upheaval and fear. A set of parents who were negligent at best and horrific at worst had engendered a desperation in their children. Thomas and Lucille had both learned at an early age that there was no one to depend on other than each other. She, as the older sibling, had assumed the role of caretaker and defender, positioning herself between Thomas and their mother when the older woman turned violent. He in turn had done everything in his power to keep her spirits from tumbling into despair. This workshop was the way he had found to achieve that, to the extent it was possible. He had discovered at an early age that he was mechanically inclined, good with both wooden carving and metal gears. Add to that an imagination forced to take flight due to the constant walls around him and he had created a wonderland of toys and puzzles, tools and gadgets. Anything he could do to make his volatile sister smile he had done.

Growing older, his inventions had become more complex, as well as more utilitarian. Marionettes had given way to contraptions for repairing things around the Hall, and then eventually to the machinery that lumbered outside, which he hoped against all precedent would be the salvation of both his home and his family name. If he could get it working. If the funds he so desperately needed were to be made accessible to him. If it all happened in time.

The woman who could be the key to all of this stood in the center of his most beloved room, far more of a personal sanctuary than even his bedroom, turning slowly in a circle to see all he had done. 

He did not like thinking of her that way, he realized. He did not want to sully the almost painful sweetness of the day with mercenary thoughts. It made him almost ill to think that she might put him in the same category as the men in London who had sought her hand for her inheritance alone. He needed her money, yes, needed it desperately, but however disloyal to his family the thought might be he could not help but think that he would take her either way, even were she as poor as he.

Thomas continued to hold his breath as Rose took in the workshop that was his attic sanctuary. He felt like school boy awaiting the results of a particularly important exam, one on which depended his entire future. She picked up a wooden carving of a ballerina, standing on pointed toe upon a round base, and with a flick of a small lever the dancer pirouetted to the tinkling music its insides produced. As Rose’ face split into a wide smile of wonder Thomas experienced an overwhelming surge of pride and happiness that his creation should have produced such an expression. 

“You like it?” he asked, embarrassed by the needy tone that slid into his voice.

“It’s beautiful!” she breathed, tripping over to him and staring up at him in a way that made his chest expand.

“You’re beautiful,” he answered without thinking, reaching out to cup her face with his hand.

"And you are extraordinary! You really made all of this?"

"I did," he replied simply, smiling like a fool at her praise.

"I have never seen anything so wonderful," she beamed.

He couldn't help it; Thomas swept her into his arms and kissed her senseless. It was as if a bright burst of sunlight had blinded him to everything else except this woman who saw him and smiled. While she still gripped the ballerina figure in one hand, Rose's other arm snaked around his neck to grasp the hair at the back of his head and he moaned into the kiss, hard and wanting. The thought of taking her here, in his workshop, was so overwhelming that his hand was already reaching down to the waistband of his trousers when he found himself freezing in place.

"Put that down," an ice cold, imperial voice that he knew all too well snapped from behind him in the doorway to the attic. "That is mine!"


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille has arrived to interfere in the budding romance of Thomas and Rose. Will they allow her to come between them?

Rose was in awe of the wonders that surrounded her. She had been expecting... well, she couldn't honestly say what she had been expecting. A puppet or two, perhaps. Maybe a rudimentary clock or some such thing. Certainly not the fantasy world that surrounded her. From simple toys of juggling bears to what looked to be an intricate machine for some type of stitching far more elaborate than the one she had seen employed by the women in the factory of a friend of her father. When she saw the ballerina, so gracefully posed on her bright colored pedestal, she had to pick it up. All her life she wished that she were as graceful as the women she had seen dancing in the theater, and here Thomas had captured all that grace in what had once been a piece of wood! When she pressed the switch and the music started, Rose thought her heart would break. It was beautiful! That a man as strong and virile of she knew Thomas to be had contrived something so delicate and beautiful was overwhelming. He must, she realized, have loved his sister very much.

She was uncertain what sequence of steps had led her back into his arms. It seemed that since she awoken in them that morning she was incapable of staying out of them. Drawn like a magnate to the iron of his embrace she surrendered to the pull and lost herself once more in the kiss of this man who made all thought but him vanish from her mind. Truly, who could blame her when the undeniable beauty of his form was not only matched but bested by the beauty that lay beneath in the sweet nature of his mind and brilliant creation of his gifts. She gripped his curls at the nape of his neck, music box dangling all but forgotten in her other hand. He was going to have her again, she could feel it from the way his kisses deepened to a hot possessiveness, and she was going to let him, even though each time increased the likelihood that they would be trapped into a permanent bond once this madness they were under wore off. And really, a small voice inside her head whispered seductively, would that be such a horrible thing? What if they found a way for the madness to continue; could this become her life in reality? Were such things allowed to happen outside of heaven?

"Put that down," an ice cold, imperial voice snapped from the doorway to the attic. "That is mine!"

Rose let out an undignified shriek and leaped backwards from Thomas, dropping the ballerina in the process. As it fell to the floor a long, elegant white hand tipped with perfectly painted nails shot forward and snatched it out of the air. Rose followed the line of the hand up a slender, red satin encased arm that seemed to go on for days before meeting a delicate shoulder, swanlike neck, and finally a face of such stark beauty that made her heart ache.

As her heart beat returned to normal and rational thought took over, she realized that it was not, as she had momentarily thought, a ghost standing in front of her, but a flesh and blood woman. From her coloring and regal bearing Rose came to the belated conclusion that this could only be Lucille, Thomas' beloved sister. 

"One should not handle other people's things if they are not prepared to treat them properly," the woman spoke in a clipped, repressive voice, looking not at Rose or the ballerina, but instead at Thomas. 

As Rose followed her line of vision she realized that Thomas had moved himself to stand partially between the women, a look of slight panic on his face. With a wave of panic Rose realized how they must appear. Thomas wore a hastily tossed on shirt and trousers, no shoes on his feet, let alone coat or cravat. As for herself, well the state of Rose's _dishabille _spoke volumes, all of it unfortunately true. Add to that the embrace they had been discovered in, and the only conclusion that one could draw was the reality that she was a strumpet, throwing herself at a nobleman in his own home. No wonder the other woman's face was etched with such disapproval.

"Lucille," Thomas croaked, finding his voice at last. "I did not expect you back so soon."

"As I gather," she said, looking at Rose at last as one would a dead mouse left as a gift in one's shoe by a pet cat. Once she had run her eyes up and down Rose's form in what would have been an insulting manner given any less proactive circumstances, but which Rose had to admit was completely justified at present, she turned back to her brother with eyes at once soft and accusing. "I was worried about you, all alone in the storm. I saw Haynes asleep on a bench in the tavern, so it was clear he was not with you. I know how lonely you get on your own, left with only your melancholy thoughts for company. Apparently I needn't have worried. But who could have guessed that you would find a... friend in the midst of it all."

"Lucille," Thomas tried again, voice coming out a bit stronger this time, "pray, allow me to present Miss Rose Dewlawn. Miss Dewlawn was in a carriage accident not far from the village, and made her way here quite by mischance. I sent Haynes to retrieve her travelling companion and driver who were incapacitated and bring them into town for medical assistance. Why did you not wake him to bring you back? And how foolish of you to attempt the return at all given the condition of the roads!"

"I feared for you, Thomas," she explained in an aggrieved voice. "I didn't realized you have... other company. As for Haynes, you know how he is when he gets to the public house. I assumed he had been heavy into his drink before succumbing to slumber in the common room, and had no wish to become involved in a carriage accident myself as the result of a drunken lout. I don't know why you keep him on. In any event, Gwen was more than capable of getting us home with only minimal hardship. I am afraid one of the horses may have pulled a tendon, but with all the ice and snow that is no surprise."

"Which is precisely why you should not have attempted such a foolhardy journey!" her brother groused, guilt and concern warring in his voice.

"Forgive me, darling," she cooed, looking up at him through dark lashes. "I did not mean to interrupt your tryst."

"What? No, Lucille, you have it all wrong!" Thomas insisted, color high as his eyes darted to Rose. 

"Do I?" Lucille's bright eyes, so much colder than her brother's found and held Rose's, making her feel like the lowliest fallen woman. She ardently wished it was not no more than the truth of the situation. 

"Yes," Thomas replied adamantly. 

"Then pray, enlighten me. Why is Miss... Dewlawn was it? In your dressing gown? And you yourself are hardly dressed for company. Now, it may have been some time since I have been in proper company, but surely the rules have not changed so much that."

"My clothes were soaked with snow," Rose at last spoke up, feeling she had to say something. "Sir Thomas lent me his dressing gown while my things dried."

"Ah, I see. And I suppose none of my dresses would have done the trick?"

"You are quite a bit larger than her, Lucille," Thomas said repressively.

"Well then," the woman smirked, "how fortunately that you are so small yourself, Thomas."

"You are quite right," Rose decided to give up trying to put a proper face on it. "I have behaved in a shockingly inappropriate manner. I have no excuse to offer you other than shock from the accident. Sir Thomas your brother was all that was kind towards me, giving me shelter and comfort after my ordeal. I am sorry that I took advantage of that. I understand how appalled you must be to have found us in such a situation, and that you can not in good conscience want me remaining under your roof. Given that the roads were good enough for you to get here, it follows that I should be able to make my way to the village where no doubt my companion is in a desperate state over my well being. Sir Thomas, I thank you most sincerely for your hospitality. I shall never forget it."

Only on the last words did Rose's voice falter, a quavering note creeping into her words as she forced herself to meet Thomas' gaze. His eyes looked back at her in a silent entreaty, and she almost fancied she saw tears welling up in them. Still, this was the best thing to be done. She would return to her reality and try to make the best of a bad situation. Hopefully her would be suitor was desperate enough for her inheritance that he would not turn her out instantly when she confessed to him that she would come to the marriage bed in a less innocent state than a bride should. As for Sir Thomas, she would keep him sealed in her heart. A fairy tale interlude that existed in a world of snow, out of time and reality, too sweet to survive in the world as it was.

"Absolute nonsense," Thomas said at last, voice crisp and commanding as he squared his shoulders and hardened his eyes. "Rose, you are going nowhere."

"Well, Thomas, after all if she wishes to leave we can not hold her. We have no claim on Miss Dewlawn after all."

"No claim?" Thomas echoed, raising one of his active eyebrows as he reached out the clasp one of Rose's small hands between his oversized paws. "I have every claim to keep her hear."

"Thomas, there is no need," Rose began.

"Indeed?" Lucille could pull the eyebrow trick just as well as her brother it seemed.

"There is every need," he isnsted, staring down each woman in turn. "You see, Lucille, Miss Dewlawn is my intended."

"What?" the doubly spoken question would have been humerous if Rose had not been so taken aback.

"You heard me," Thomas directed his speach to his sister, ignoring the fact that his declaimed intended had also voiced her surprise. "I have asked Rose to marry me, and she has graciously deigned to take me, deficient as I am. Is that not right, darling?"

As Thomas' eyes sought Rose with such tender entreaty, she felt a lump forming in her throat. She should say no. She knew she should. They had known each other for no time at all, virtually strangers to one another. Her family had all but promised her to another man, intricately connected by bonds of kinship. Thomas was only offering out of misplaced chivalry. Wasn't he? Looking into the deep pools of blue that were his eyes, Rose suddenly was not so sure. Could he feel this pull, so sudden and so strong, as much as she? Was it possible that two people could fall so quickly? The notion was tempting beyond reason. They shared a love of literature, of music. He was happiest tinkering away, engaged and working, and she had a disgust of men who did nothing with their day but pursue mindless pleasure. And when he did pursue pleasure, she couldn't help thinking, it was a pleasure that consumed them both. Add to all of this the very real possibility that she could, even now, be carrying his child. It was unlikely, but she knew it could happen. Rose closed her eyes and weighed it all in her mind, trying to think with her head rather than the rest of her body that was screaming out at her that the solution was the most simple one she had ever faced.

"Darling?" he asked again, and the note of soft longing in the one word was her undoing.

"Yes," she said at last, giving in to her heart as she opened her eyes. "Yes, indeed. Sir Thomas and I are to be wed." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for hanging in there everyone! Hopefully now that the holidays are over I will have more free time to write! As always, I live for your comments and questions!
> 
> Hope you all have a marvelous New Years!!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for a sibling sit down. Surely Lucille will see the merits of Thomas' plan to wed Rose, right?

"Really, Thomas, what could you be thinking?" Lucille demanded, the indignation in her voice reaching fantastic crescendos.

Thomas sighed and sat down heavily at his work bench. Adorably flustered and blushing, Rose had beat a hasty retreat from the room, mumbling under her breath something about finding proper clothing. He had let her go, smiling after her. He had secured her promise, and instinct told him that Rose Dewlawn was not a woman to go back on her word once given. Unfortunately that left him alone in the room with the cold fury that was his sister.

"I don't know why you are so upset," he tried reasonably. "After all, it was your idea that I marry in the first place, remember? To save our fortunes?"

"Yes, but not like _this_," she fumed, glaring down at him.

"Not like what?" he asked, his own temper sparking. "Not with someone I actually find appealing? Who is sweet and comely and respects my work? You would rather, I suppose, have me tied to an ugly shrew who looks down on my inventions and begrudges me every thing in life that brings me pleasure?"

"Do I not bring you pleasure, Thomas?" she asked, eyes filling with recrimination.

"Of course you do, Lucille," Thomas sighed, his anger turning to exhaustion. He knew better than any how volatile his sister could be. It must have given her a start to find him in such a position with a strange woman. If his brain touched on the reasons she might secretly harbor for her displeasure it was quick to shy away from them. Lucille might be overly attached to him, yes, but only because they had never had anyone else on which to rely.

"I suppose she is rich," his sister pouted, crossing to stare out the window at the flurrying snow.

"She is an heiress," he nodded. "Of considerable wealth. She was on her way to meet a potential suitor when her carriage was overset."

"How convenient," contempt dripped from Lucille's words. "I suppose you have seen documentation of this fortune? No? She had then, I assume, at least some proof of her identity? A card, perhaps, or something with the family seal?"

Reluctantly, not looking up from his desk, Thomas shook his head.

"Oh, darling," she purred disparagingly. "So let me be sure I have this correct - a young lady, unaccompanied and bearing no identification, appears on your doorstep in the midst of a storm, claiming to be a lost heiress? And tell me, how long did it take her to wiggle her way into your bed?"

"It wasn't like that," he insisted, not wanting to hear his perfect day turned into something cheap and tawdry.

"Wasn't it?" she demanded. "Tell me, did she mention her fortune before or after slipping into your bed."

"She told me at dinner," he refused to answer her question.

"I see. How above board of her. And then, what? An enchanting conversation before retiring for the night? What a pity that there is only one bed in this gigantic monstrosity of a house."

"She slept in the guest room," he told her, omitting the part where he had slept there as well.

"Thomas, don't you see she is using you!" 

"And what were we planning to do to the poor girl you found for me to wed?" he turned on her.

"You would be kind to any wife," she said. "How could being married to you fail to make a woman happy?"

"As being married to Rose would make any man," he countered, closing his eyes to the flash of pain across Lucille's face.

He did not want to hurt Lucille, truly he did not. He loved her in a way that went beyond familial bonds. She had been his companion, his protector since the day he drew his first breath. It was not her fault that she wandered sometimes, in her head. Given the life that had been forced upon her it was a miracle she was as stable as she remained. He just wished that she would give him room to breath. To be his own man instead of being forever tied to her and to their past. 

"She is that good in bed then," Lucille asked after a moment of pained silence. "She must have well practiced skills to so turn men's heads."

"Don't, Lucille," he commanded sternly. "Don't go there. Not with Rose. She is to be my wife. She came an innocent into my bed. Yes, I admit it, do not look at me in that way. But she was untouched before that, I would stake my life on it. As for her fortune, if it is half of what I expect it to be it will set us up handsomely. You will be able to make all of the improvements to the Hall you have always dreamed of."

"Ah, but it will not be up to me to do so any more," she replied, crumbling onto the small settee across the room. "Your Rose will be mistress of Alerdale, not I."

"You will always have pride of place here," he tried to assure her. "And once we are wed, perhaps a trip to London for the season can be arranged for you if you so desire, to find a husband of your own."

"You know that is not what I desire," she told him, eyes accusing. "Rose. It's a peasant's name."

"It's a lovely name, and she is a lovely person. You will like her, Lucille, if you just give her half a chance."

"Will I?" she sneered.

"If you allow yourself."

"She was holding the ballerina, Thomas," Lucille told him, voice raw. "My ballerina. And she dropped her. Do you remember when you made her for me?"

Thomas nodded, his throat constricting. It had been her 14th birthday. Mother had been in a rage, screaming from her sick room two floors below. Lucille, in the chamber with her, had let out a cry of pain that went straight to his heart, and he knew he should go down to aid her. But the young boy he was could not bear to face their mother when she was in such a rage. He was weak, he knew he was, but she was such a beast of a woman, even now that she was ill, and he feared her cane and her cutting words. So he let Lucille deal with her, as shouts of "whore" and "bastard girl" and worse could be heard echoing throughout the house. He stayed in the attic, carving the gift he meant to give his sister for her birthday. The ballerina was almost finished, he just needed to sand down the edges and she would be ready to be painted. Of the many stories he and Lucille had woven of how they would escape from their prison of a life, her favorite had been the one where she ran away and became a famous dancer, him accompanying her on the piano he loved but was not allowed to learn as it was considered "unmanly". He knew she would love the figure.

When a loud thumping noise had suddenly presaged the end of the bellowing below, Thomas had felt as though a cold finger had reached out to touch his heart. Something was wrong. Mother never stopped once she was on a tear. He stood up, body shaking as he clutched the dancer to him as though it was the only safe thing in the world and shut his eyes tight. The noise of the elevator gate opening increased his trembling, but it was a gentle, well known hand that reached out and cupped his face. He felt something wet transfer to his cheek, but his eyes opened up nonetheless.

"It is all over, little brother," Lucille had told him, standing before him covered in the crimson red of fresh blood.

"Mother?" he had whispered, eyes large in his thin face.

"She will not hurt either one of us again."

The range of emotions that had surged through the small boy he had been was overwhelming, driving him to his knees. They were safe at last, and yet more at peril than ever before. What Lucille had done, his mind even now shied away from naming it, had set them free and cursed them at one and the same time. He had been rendered incapacitated by the scope of it.

"Did you make this for me?" she had asked, voice calm and peaceful as she took the figure from him. He nodded mutely in reply. "How lovely. What a brilliant boy you are, Thomas. When you are older, you must contrive to make her dance for me. It is only the two of us now, brother. Just you and me. As it always should have been."

She had held him as he cried, her own eyes dry and clear.

"I remember," he said now, looking at her and still not fully comprehending how she could have committed such an act.

"I will not give it up, Thomas," she told him fiercely, that hint of madness he worked so hard not to see glinting in her eyes. "I have given to much already. I will not let someone else take all I have left."

"No one is taking anything from you," he crossed to sit next to her and put his arm around her. "I love you, Lucille. I will always take care of you."

"But you will marry Miss Dewlawn," she said bitterly.

"I will marry Rose, yes. But we can be happy, we three. She shares your love for music, you know. She plays beautifully, though in a different style than you. Perhaps you can learn from each other."

"For an intelligent man, you are perhaps the most stupid human I have ever met," she said waspishly, causing him to flinch away from her. "Very well, Thomas. Marry your little flower. I think you are fool, but when has that ever stopped you in the past?"

"All will be well Lucille, you will see."

He wondered if it was just his sister he was trying to convince. 

"Come, the sun is setting and it is getting far too cold to be in here. Let us go down and see to supper."

It was true, the room which had been so warm and filled with sunshine just a short time ago was now dark and dreary once more. Strange how quickly that could happen. Taking Lucille's hand he helped her to rise and led her towards the door. In his mind he was already thinking of his Rose, wondering what she might have found to change into and whether he could convince her to let him take it off her later that night. It would be different, of course, now that they were no longer alone. Still, they were going to be married, and they had already abandoned propriety more than once. Surely she would see that there was nothing to be gained by adhering to the strict dictates of society. In his heart he was already pledged to her, what more should be required than that. He trusted he could make her see the sense of such reason. She was, after all, a sensible girl.

Thomas smiled as he shut the gate of the elevator, completely missing the moment that Lucille snapped the head from the ballerina figure clutched in her hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dun Dun DUN!!!!!! So, after taking forever to write the last chapter this one just flew out today! Hope you liked it. No smut I know, but some much needed plot progression!
> 
> Also, I love Thomas, but he's a bit dim isn't he?
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading!!!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second dinner is not as pleasant as the first, as Rose and Lucille get to know each other.

Dinner wasn't nearly the open, relaxing event that it had been the night before.

After her impulsive acceptance of Thomas' suit, Rose had fled the attic workshop in the most cowardly fashion imaginable, mumbling something incoherent about locating proper clothing that made no sense even to herself. She couldn't help it. There were so many conflicting waves of emotions flying through the air in the small, suddenly airless space that she thought she might drown in them. She felt trapped in a vise between the admittedly gratifying (yet rather smug) elation she sensed almost bursting from Thomas and the frighteningly intense malevolence seeping from Lucille's every pore. It was going to take her some time to decipher her own emotional state - equal parts excitement and terror she expected. All she could think in that moment was that she needed to escape before the siblings' states of mind reached their inevitable collision. 

It appeared that they had managed to clear some of the air after her departure. Lucille, while hardly effusive in welcome, was at least no longer openly hostile to her. Oh, Rose had no doubt that the woman loathed her and wanted nothing more than to toss her out the door without so much as a backward glance to see if she froze in a snowbank. The smile she had contorted her lips into did not come close to reaching her eyes. As they sat awkwardly eating the meat pie Lucille and the maid had brought back from the village, the older woman questioned Rose on her upbringing, the pained grimaces she made a show of attempting to hide clearly signaling her distaste at Rose's less than perfect pedigree.

If all of this was obvious to Rose however, Thomas seemed blissfully oblivious to his sister's dislike. Happily devouring his dinner like a boy on Christmas, he was all smiles as his sister interrogated his newly avowed fiancé. His eyes rarely left Rose's face, and she had to admit that the heat in them was doing all sorts of things to her insides. Perhaps foolishly she had assumed that his ardor would be dampened now that they had a chaperone, but if anything he seemed even more intent on laying siege to her peace of mind. His leg under the table had moved incrementally closer to hers during the course of the meal, until the entire length of it was pressed against her. Even though she now wore her still slightly damp wool skirt and thick hose it felt as though she was on fire where he came into contact with her. It was all very distracting, and she was finding she needed all her wits about her to counter the questions Lucille was pelting her with.

When the pie had finally been finished and Rose began to hope for a moment of respite Thomas at last turned his sunny smile to his sister.

"I don't suppose there was any cake to be had, was there?" he asked in a wheedling tone more in keeping with an adolescent than a grown man who had just inhaled a mammoth amount of dinner.

"Of course there is, darling," Lucille simpered, returning his smile. "You don't think I would forget something so important to you."

Rose had to work not to roll her eyes as the older woman rose elegantly from her seat.

"I will just go fetch it from the kitchen," Lucille told him indulgently. 

The moment the door closed behind her Thomas was out of his chair and on one knee beside Rose. The fire in his eyes, barely contained throughout the meal, blazed into light as he reached out to take her face between his hands. Rose's pulse began to race, and in that moment all of her misgivings, her concerns over Lucille, receded to the background as she leaned in to accept his kiss. It was hot and sloppy and promised such sinfulness to come that Rose whimpered as she returned it. All to soon he had pulled away, but the ardor still gleamed as he smiled dangerously at her.

"There is not nearly enough time for me to show you how I feel," he whispered to her in a husky voice, "but please believe me when I say that you have made me the happiest of men. I will endeavor, till my life's end, to show you every day how grateful I am you are mine."

Rose tried to organize her thoughts, but just as swiftly as she had left Lucille was back in the room, a chocolate confection between her perfectly manicured hands. Rose couldn't help glancing down at her own hands, scraped with chipped nails from her accident and not exactly elegant at the best of times. Thomas scrambled up from his place on the ground next to her and resumed his seat, left hand drifting under the table to trace random designs on her thigh.

"Is everything alright?" Lucille asked, raising one wing-like brow.

"Of course," Thomas blushed. "I just dropped my napkin."

"How clumsy of you, Thomas," she answered dryly, bringing a guilty flush to both of their faces which she pointedly ignored.

"Why did you not have Gwen serve the cake?" Thomas asked, awkwardly changing the subject.

"Gwen? Why I sent her back into town, of course."

"In this weather?" Rose gasped without thinking.

"Why ever would you do that?" Thomas asked at the same time.

"Why, to retrieve Miss Dewlawns traveling companions, of course. Really, Thomas, if she is not... worldly enough to have a care for her own reputation, then we must endeavor to do so for her. Just think, if word should get out that she was here unchaperoned..."

"But you are here," he pointed out.

"I was not last night," she replied repressively. "Several people saw me in the village, and as I am well known there, it will be widely established that I spent the night. We can only hope that in the chaos of the storm few people took the time to realize that Miss Dewlawn's chaperone was not here with her. The quicker we get her here, the better it will be. From what you have told me of her, dear, it can be assumed that her presence would ensure beyond a doubt that nothing scandalous happened between you and my brother."

The prim smile that Lucille assumed as she cut the cake and served out the slices was enough to make Rose clench her teeth together. Thomas stared first at his sister and then at Rose, his expression almost comical as his obvious plans for seduction melted before his eyes. Rose knew beyond a doubt that Lucille was correct. Mary was as vigilant as the strictest abbess at a nunnery when it came to keeping her young charge beyond reproach. There was no surer way to enforce chastity between the newly betrothed couple than to bring her to Allerdale Hall.

"You should not have done that," Thomas groused, glaring at his sister. "You have put both of their lives in danger. And really, as Rose and I are betrothed there can be no real scandal to her staying here."

"Perhaps you are right," Lucille cooed, licking a piece of chocolate off her red lip. "It is too late now, though. She will be almost at the village by this point."

So on top of all else, Rose stewed, she would have to worry about Mary sustaining another accident. More and more she was coming to dislike Thomas' smug sister. Still, they would have to come to some sort of understanding, as they would be spending untold amounts of time together.

When dinner ended they made their way out into the parlor, Thomas escorting Rose with her hand tucked in the crook of his arm. Lucille went directly to the piano, where she made a show of shuffling the sheet music, sighing as though it had been completely misarranged. When she at last selected a page she sat stiffly erect on the bench and began to play. 

Rose had to admit she was a talented musician. The song she played was in a minor key and sounded almost sinister, but Lucille played it with great feeling, swaying back and forth a bit with the melody. Thomas, who had been standing next to the mended settee on which Rose sat, dropped his hand to her shoulder. A shudder ran through her as fingers glided up and down the column of her neck. Gently, he took a curling lock of her hair and wound it around his long fingers. Dipping his head he placed a tiny kiss onto the tress.

"I must have you tonight," he breathed into her ear, soft enough so that only she could hear with music filling the room.

"How?" she murmured, knowing she was being reckless but unable to resist. "I cannot go to your room."

"No," he agreed, musing over it. "The attic. Meet me there half an hour after we retire."

"You said it was too cold," she said fatuously. After all, of all the reasons not to meet him the temperature was so far down the list as to be nonexistent.

"I think we can endeavor to keep each other warm," he purred, taking the shell of her ear into his mouth and sucking briefly.

Rose could barely breath. Her blood was rushing in her head, and all of the moisture in her had dropped to her core. He was so seductive, this tall, dark man she had stumbled onto. Was he so good at this naturally, or had he practiced this all before, with other unsuspecting young innocents? The sudden fear shot through her, bringing doubt with it. Why was he still unwed? Was it just because he lived so isolated out here, away from most good company? Or was his proposal just a ploy to get her to lower her guard and succumb to him? What if he didn't plan to actually go through with the wedding? 

She looked up at him where he stood, smiling down at her, and felt her lips tilting up in return. Perhaps she was innocent, (though not so much so after today) but she could not believe he was so duplicitous as that. His sister she would not be so sure about, but Thomas, to her happy befuddlement, appeared to be as infatuated as Rose was herself. She would not believe him guilty of so low an act.

The song came to an end as Lucille played the last notes with a flourish. Thomas and Rose clapped in genuine appreciation as she stood and stretched. She might not care for Lucille as a potential sister, but as a musician she was beyond reproach.

"My brother tells me you play a little, Rose," Lucille smiled, using her name for the first time. "Perhaps you would deign to entertain us."

Rose considered declining, but the smugly superior look on the other woman's face was one slight too many. Rising with a smile of her own, Rose allowed Thomas to lead her over to the piano; he seemed unwilling or unable to let her out of arm's reach. Waving away Lucille's silent offer of music, Rose arched her fingers over the keys and closed her eyes. Pulling in a deep breath to center herself, Rose reached for the quiet place within and gently began caressing the keys. 

As often happened when she played her own music, Rose began to loose all sense of time and place. So much had happened to her over the past twenty-four hours or so, and there had been almost no opportunity to process any of it. All of it: the fear of the accident, the trudge through the ice, Thomas, their evening reading, the idyll in snow, and the inferno that followed in his room, Rose let flow out through her fingertips. Dimly she acknowledged an unharmonious note here and there. Her music was by no means as technically perfect as Lucille's had been, but it was teeming over with emotions.

Drawing at last to a crescendo that ended as suddenly as it began, Rose let her hands dance over the final chords quietly. It was coming back to earth. Life returning. Or, she now realized, fighting her way back to coherent thought after an interlude with Thomas. Looking up at him she saw that tears were shining freely in his eyes as he stared at her. Wordlessly he brought her hand up to kiss her palm, holding it there against his lips far longer than propriety allowed. On instinct Rose looked across the room to where Lucille stood, death in her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for reading! I love you and live for your comments and feedback!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With the arrival of Rose's chaperone, will she and Thomas keep their assignation in the attic?

Thomas had heard Rose play the piano before, but last night - sweet lord in heaven had it only been a day? - it had been one of Lucille's funerial dirges that she had coaxed lugubriously from the instrument. This was different. She was a bit clumsy at first as she sat at the keys timidly stroking her fingers across them to find her theme. Out of the corner of his eye he winced to see Lucille's smugly upturned lips. His sister was justifiably proud of her skills at the piano. But as Rose began to warm to her instrument, Thomas lost all thought of his sister or of anything else other than the woman making music before him.

It was not just that the music had passion. It did, it over flowed with it in fact. It was the different shadings that all came together within it. The sound of her music was like the sun shining bright and crisp on the morning snow. Warm, beautiful, life giving, but with just a trace of loss threading through that gave it an unlooked for depth. In a flash of intuition Thomas knew that this was exactly what Rose was picturing. The morning they had shared. She was giving it back to him, in the form of a song only the two of them would ever understand. It touched his soul in the most intimate manner.

As her fingers lingered lovingly over the final notes Thomas realized he had been holding his breath and quietly let it out. Wordlessly he took her hand and brought her palm to his lips, holding it there far longer than propriety allowed. All evening, ever since she had accepted his suit, he had been unable to keep his hands off of her. Now, with the glory of what she had just done still echoing in his head, it was all he could do to keep from descending on her, twining his body around her like mistletoe embraces the tree that gives it life. He looked down on at her with eyes brimming over with unmanly tears he knew he should be ashamed of. His mother, were she alive, would have had him whipped bloody for showing such a weakness. Thomas didn't care. Her talent demanded such a tribute and he was all too happy to give it to her.

"You are exquisite," he told her in a voice husky with feeling. "I have never heard anyone play with such beauty."

"Very pretty," Lucille said in a crisp, cool voice.

"Yes, very pretty," Thomas echoed, his eyes importing to Rose that it was not the sound of the music alone of which he spoke, but the musician who provided it.

"Thank you," Rose said shyly, rising and crossing to the fire. "I'm sorry, I'm afraid I get a bit lost in the music at times when I play."

"Yes, well, when one doesn't have the luxury of sheet music, I can see how one could begin to meander a bit," Lucille smiled, causing Rose' blush to deepen.

"I find I am getting quite tired," Rose stuttered, eyes on the floor. "I pray you will both excuse me if I say good night early. It has been a very long, eventful day."

Thomas smiled at her as he thought of what the day had entailed. It had indeed been momentous; it had changed both of their lives forever. He had taken her innocence and left his heart in return, attempting to imprint himself deep within her. And soon he would do so again. In a short time he would have her all to himself once more, able to slide deep inside her, strengthening his claim to her body and soul. Swallowing hard he urged the stirring in his breeches to still to little effect.

"Of course," he told her, solicitously.

"We would not dream of keeping you, dear," Lucille smiled.

"_Rose_!" a high pitched voice shrieked from the door way as a tall, spindly woman came limping into the room as fast as her bandaged foot and cane could carry her. Thomas knew instantly that this must be the Honorable Mrs. Mary Jennings, though she looked nothing like what he had imagined. He had been picturing a blustery, frumpy woman of plump proportions, he had no idea why. What he saw instead was a lady so spare in her frame that she must not have an ounce of extra flesh on her bones. Her nose was straight and pronounced, her eyes a tad beady and shockingly penetrating. He knew in a moment that this woman would miss next to nothing.

"Mary," Rose shrieked, racing across the room to sweep the woman into an embrace. "You are alright! Oh, I was so worried."

"Slowly child!" Mrs. Jennings chided, clucking her tongue. "We are not a race horse!"

"Of course, darling Mary," Rose smiled with a small laugh. "Forgive me. But come, sit down and rest your foot!"

"And is this your drawing room, young lady, that you put on such airs?" Mary demanded.

"No," Rose began, biting her bottom lip.

"It is mine," Thomas sprang to her belated rescue, stepping forward. "Allow me to introduce myself, madam. I am Sir Thomas Sharpe, owner of Allerdale Hall. This is my sister, Miss Lucille Sharpe. And I echo your charge’s sentiments. Please, do sit down and take your ease."

As he bowed over her hand Thomas had the distinct impression that the old lady had glanced him up and down and taken his complete measure in under a moment. It was quite disquieting a sensation, and he could not suppress a slight blush at what she might have seen.

"Sir Thomas, Miss Lucille," Rose said, making the introduction, "this is my chaperone, Mary. Er… Mrs. Jennings."

"You are most welcome, ma'am, to our house," he smiled winningly.

"Indeed," Lucille murmured.

"Allow me to assist you," he added, helping her to the large, overstuffed chair and quickly bringing over a foot stool.

"Oh, you are a charmer, aren't you," she remarked, narrowing her eyes. It did not sound like a compliment.

Thomas felt an absurd flash of guilt shoot through him. Really, was he a boy again to let this old dragon so befuddle him? Ruthlessly squelching any such emotions he endeavored to turn on the charm of which she spoke.

"Lucille, could you ask Gwen to air out the yellow room for our new guest?" he asked his sister with a smile.

"There is no need," Mrs. Jennings said sharply. "I can share with Miss Dewlawn."

"Oh, but there is no need," he answered, careful to keep his voice casual. "As you can see, the house is quite large and there is no shortage of rooms."

"Yes," Lucille said sweetly, "but Gwen has had such a long day, what with driving back and forth in the snow. It would not be right to impose on her more."

"What do you mean? Why on earth was she driving in the snow so much? You mean she was not in the village overnight?"

"Well you see, Mrs. Jennings," Lucille told her, "My maid and I were both trapped in town over night. Naturally we had no idea of your being there, or of your existence really. We made the trip back to the Hall after the snow slowed in the afternoon. Then when we returned and I heard that you were also stranded, well! Of course I sent her to get you."

"I see," Mrs. Jenning's eyes narrowed. "Well, surely you must have some other servant who can see to my luggage, even if there is no necessity for another room."

"We have only the one maid, ma'am," Lucille's voice dripped with regret, "and a manservant still in town."

"The one who assisted you last night," Rose added helpfully.

"Wait," the old lady turned to stare at Thomas and then Rose with her piercing eyes. "Do you mean to say that you two were the only ones in residence last night? Alone!"

"I am afraid so, Mrs. Jennings," Thomas bowed his head.

"I am sure my brother was the model of propriety, ma'am," Lucille assured her with a thin smile.

"That is neither here nor there," she intoned, "though if you ask me he is far too handsome to be so. Rose! Have I taught you no better? What were you thinking girl?"

"Mary," Rose wrung her hands, "what was I to do? I had to go get help; you were trapped and the driver was out cold. It took me ages to make it here, and when I did Sir Thomas was kind enough to grant me refuge and send his servant to rescue you."

"That is no excuse!"

"What was I to do, sleep out in the snow?" Rose demanded, back straightening and eyes flashing.

"There must have been some other way! A single, gently bred lady does not spend the night alone with a gentleman not of her family!"

"I would very much like you to tell me what that way was," Rose snapped, surprising Thomas with her feistiness. "I suppose I should have frozen to death rather than accept a perfectly kind offer for room and board?"

"Well, no. That is not what I meant..."

"Or perhaps you think me so irresistible that any man would leap at the chance to debauch me," Rose continued sarcastically. "Even one as kind as Sir Thomas has been."

"Rose!" Mrs. Jennings gasped in shock.

Thomas struggled to avoid meeting the eye of any of the women in the room. He did find her that irresistible, and had jumped at the chance for some good debauching. He was in fact anxious to do some more now. Not that the old woman needed to know that, of course. Lords, but Rose was beautiful when she was angry.

"Do you think that every man is so inherently wicked that we women must die rather than accept their aid?"

"It is not what I think that matters," the dowager said ponderously, "but what society thinks. Rose, you know this!"

"It is all taken care of, ma'am," Thomas interjected before the two women could further their argument.

"Oh is it? And I suppose you have mute servants do you? To ensure they do not talk and ruin my charge's good name?"

"Not at all," he smiled, flashing his dimples in a way he knew older ladies in particular appreciated. 

"Then how do you mean to control the gossip?"

"Simple," he said, crossing to Rose and taking her hand. "I have asked Miss Dewlawn to marry me, and she has accepted."

"WHAT?" she all but bellowed. "Rose Dewlawn, is this true?"

"It is, Mary," Rose smiled up at Thomas and he felt his stomach flip somersaults. "I am engaged to Sir Thomas."

"Think girl!" Mary hissed. "A handsome set of eyes and lean body are all very well and good, but do you really want to live up here, in this dilapidated wreck of a house? No offense, Sir. Is it the title or his smile that have turned your head? I never knew you to give up common sense for either before."

"And I have not now," Rose straightened her spine. "I find that Sir Thomas and I suit very well together."

"In twenty four hours time?"

"Yes. Our tastes rub along quite nicely."

"Oh, I'm sure your _tastes_ do," he could have sworn he heard her mutter before she added aloud, "I do not like this, Rose. It is far too havey-cavey for my piece of mind. But a drawing room is no place for this conversation, and I am too tired for it in any case. Sir Thomas, Miss Sharpe, I will say good night. If you would kindly have my things brought up and show me where I am to sleep."

"Lucille will show you," he said quickly, before he or Rose could be pressed into service. "Good night, ma'am. I hope you may look more kindly on my suit in the morning."

"We'll see about that!" she harrumphed, limping out of the room. "Rose! I will expect you shortly."

The moment he heard their footsteps on the stairs, Thomas had Rose in his arms.

"Darling, you were magnificent!" he praised her, kissing her exuberantly.

"Oh, I love her but she makes me so angry!" Rose said, stomping her foot adorably. "It was this way all throughout London. One would think that a woman or a man were no more than feral animals the way she, and society at large, thinks that we can not control our lusts the moment we are alone together."

Thomas smiled fondly and kissed her neck, forbearing to point out that in their case society had been quite correct. His hand skimmed up the side of her gown, pausing to cup her breast and squeeze slightly, eliciting a soft moan from her that made his cock spring to life hard inside his trousers.

"You will still come to me?" he asked. "She cannot stay awake for long with the excitement she has suffered."

"I should say no," Rose fretted as his hand slid the shoulder of her dress off to one side so that he could properly taste her skin. "But yes, I will come. Oh lord, what have you done to me that I cannot resist you?"

"Do you want me to stop?" he asked as he dipped down her bodice to run his thumb over her hard nipple peeping out from her corset.

"No," she panted. "No, I want you to keep going. I want more. I want everything."

"And you shall have it," he promised, grinding against her hip. "Oh, my beautiful Rose, I will give you everything you could think to ask for and some you would never even imagine."

"Give me an hour to get her settled and asleep," she gasped. 

"Not a minute longer."

It was, he was convinced, the longest hour of his life. He had slipped into the kitchen and brewed a large pot of tea, and then juggled that and a collection of blankets to the elevator. Lucille had intercepted him on the way, but he had insisted that he had gotten an idea for an invention that simply could not wait until morning. It would not be the first time such a thing had happened, and she merely rolled her eyes at him and sent him off with a good night kiss to his forehead. 

Thomas reached the attic with a song in his heart and a massive erection in his pants. He fashioned a nest on the floor with the blankets he had brought, wrapping one about himself to keep off the cold until his lady should arrive to warm him more pleasantly. Sipping the tea, he did work a bit on one of his many projects, though his mind was not really on it. Every sound, every creak and squeak of the ancient floor boards sent his glance flying to the door, hoping to see the already beloved face appearing.

When at last the metal screech of the elevator sounded the approach of someone he sat up in eager anticipation like a hopeful puppy. A flickering light presaged her arrival, and then she was there, candle in her hand providing an ethereal light to his very own angel. She was dressed in a simple white night dress, plain and virginal but just the enticing bit thin enough that he could make out the darker circles of her areola through it's material. Her long hair hung about her shoulders, creating a halo in the taper's glow. 

"You came," he breathed, eyes large and pupils blown as she paused in the doorway, a small smile on her lips.

"I did," she nodded. "I should not have, but it seems you strip all rational thought from my brain."

That was not all he would strip her of, he thought as she picked her way over to his pile of blankets. Carefully she set the candle down on his work bench, then blew it out since the oil lamps he had lit provided the room with a soft light.

"A careful woman," he said approvingly.

"I have no desire to become the crazy woman in the gothic romance, burning alive in the attic," she told him dryly. "We already have too many conventions of the drama for my peace of mind. Old, isolated house, fallen a bit to the wear of time. Fierce snow storm. Tragically handsome lord of the manor. All it needs is a shocking death."

"You think me handsome," he asked, grinning smugly as he helped her down into his nest.

"That was not my point," she said repressively.

"You do," he gloated, smile widening. 

"Oh, for the sake of... Thomas, a person would have to be blind not to find you handsome!" she rolled her eyes.

"Well, I find you..." he paused, pretending to consider it while she pursed her lips at him. "Perfect," he finished, drawing her against him.

"I am certainly not that," she laughed dryly. "I am afraid I am full of flaws."

"Hush!" he insisted haughtily. "I will not have you speak of my fiancé in such a manner! I say she is perfect and none shall gainsay me."

Lifting his hand to her face Thomas ran the back of his hand down her cheek slowly, causing her eyes to close as a soft sigh crossed her slightly parted lips.

"This skin is perfect - smooth and soft to my touch," he told her, caressing her. "These eyes hold the perfect combination of beauty and wisdom."

He kissed each closed eye in turn, then pulled back to drag his thumb over her lips.

"These lips, so red and delicious, were made to be kissed, to be tasted. They would tempt a saint to stray, let alone a mere mortal like myself. I cannot keep myself from claiming them. My I, my angel?"

Rose's tongue flickered over the lips in question, stirring his arousal further, and she nodded her head. Thomas smiled and brought his mouth to hers in a slow, lingering kiss. He was careful not to rush, taking time to explore inside, gently coaxing her tongue with his own. As he drank his fill of her Rose melted against him, molding her body to the hard plains of his form. He could feel her heart beating a frantic pace, but still he held himself back from ravishing her as his lower brain was urging.

"So delicious," he repeated when he finally pulled back from her lips. "And then there is the graceful curve of your neck. The hollow of your throat where my lips long to suck and lick. Your delicate shoulders, so sensitive to my touch."

As he catalogued her body's virtues Thomas let his hands and mouth explore, putting action to the descriptions he spoke. He wanted, he _needed_ to make her understand how precious she was to him. Slowly, hands almost shaking in reverence, he untied the neck of her nightgown and slid the light material off of her shoulders and down to her waist. She shivered a bit, but whether from the cold or for some other reason Thomas was uncertain. Her nipples were hard and dark in the lamp light, and he gently rolled one between his thumb and finger, smiling as she arched her back and let out a tiny moan.

"These breasts, so gloriously full and ripe, will one day feed our child," he said, mind reeling at the thought. "Though now I will happily enjoy them for myself. The curve of your waist and hip fit my hands as though made for them."

Carefully he lowered her dress more, Rose lifting her hips to help him pull it all of the way off of her. She lay there, once again bare to his eyes, and Thomas could barely breath. His cock was screaming for him to take her, and he was not sure how much longer he would be able to resist doing just that.

"You have no idea how beautiful you are, Rose," he said, devouring the sight of her. "I would keep you like this, always, but then I would never leave the bed. I would spend all of my time lost in you, my lovely girl."

"Thomas," she said, somewhere between a moan and a plea. Just his name, and yet it almost undid him.

"Yes, my love?" he asked, hand skimming the length of her body from neck to knee.

"Take me. Please." her pupils were blown and her teeth bit into her lower lip.

"If you insist," he smiled, taking his trousers off with much quicker efficiency than he had done with her dress.

Rose ran her eyes down his body, swallowing when she saw how rampant he stood as he moved to cover her body with her own.

"You will never regret choosing me, Rose," he vowed as he dragged the swollen head of his cock over the wet heat of her core. "I swear it to you, I will do everything in my power to make you happy."

"Please," she said again, arm coming around him to caress his backside and draw him closer to her.

With great control Thomas slowly pushed forward, taking her inch by agonizing inch. Her walls, so tight around him, seemed to pull him deeper, but he took his time to ensure that she felt the full length of him laying claim to her most intimate spaces. When at last he was seated completely within her, he held himself still for a moment, reveling in the was she gripped around him.

"Perfect," he praised her, and began to slowly pull out and thrust in. "So very perfect for me, my darling Rose."

"Thomas," she keened, one leg rising to wrap around his waist.

"That's it, darling," he encouraged her, starting to speed up as need drove him. "Open for me. Take me in. Feel me claim you. You belong to me, Rose."

"Yes," she panted, hips rising to meet his with his every thrust. "Oh god, yes."

Thomas lost all power to speak as words gave way to grunts and moans of pure pleasure. Never in his life had he experienced such sheer carnal bliss. His mouth roamed her neck and face, peppering them with sloppy kisses. Her nails raked along his back, driving him deeper, harder, faster. Her second leg lifted to join the first, ankles hooked behind his back. With the new position her breathing became louder, clearly reaching towards her climax. Thomas felt his own muscles tighten as the need in his body found release within hers. As she clamped down around him, screaming into his shoulder to muffle the sound in the sleepy house, he pushed deep within her and spilled himself with a moan ripped from his soul.

Lying beneath the blankets some time later, Thomas smiled at the woman sleeping on his shoulder. He would give her a bit of time to rest, he thought indulgently. Give them both time to recover. 

He was to be married. To an angel. It seemed that miracles could happen after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A longer chapter for you this time! I thought about stopping before the sex, but decided that would be too mean. Hope you enjoy!!!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose uncovers a plot to separate her from Thomas. How can they thwart it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone! Sorry for the delay in this chapter - I have been under the weather for the past week. Thank you all for sticking with me and this story. I love you all and your feedback.

It was long past midmorning when Rose awoke, a feeling of languid heaviness possessing her. She was alone in the room, which was a blessing. Mary was an avid believer in the moral superiority of being an early riser; it had been one of their very first battles when she had arrived to take over Rose' launch into society. It was test of two wills both used to getting their own way. If she had lost that battle, Rose sometimes thought, she would have lost all. Mary would have ridden roughshod over her from then on. Fortunately for Rose, society was on her side for once. The fashionable world sparkled most at night, with their glittering parties where they danced until dawn. Defeated by the necessity of chaperoning Rose on all of those outings as well as by her charge's surly disposition when denied sleep, Mary was forced to concede that allowing Rose to sleep in was in everyone's best interests. It was one of her few victories, but one that she blessed each morning.

Groaning as she stretched and rose from the lumpy mattress, Rose realized that she was sore in places she had never even thought of before. In one day she had managed to go from innocent to more thoroughly debauched than she had ever imagined she would be. Thomas had not been gentle on her, nor she wanted him to be, last night when he had woken her from her doze on the attic floor to take her once more, hot and demanding, on her knees from behind. The ferocity of his love making had been in sharp contrast the delicate, almost apologetic, manner in which he had helped her to dress after and escorted her to the elevator. He had kissed her good night there, both fearing discovery should they descend to the main floors of the house together, and whispered words of romance into her ear, promising that this had only been their first of a lifetime of nights together.

The results of all of this activity had left Rose feeling happy and fulfilled, but also screaming for a long, hot bath and a cup of tea to restore her. Giggling, she pushed away the thought of inviting Thomas to join her in said bath and instead slipped into a simple day dress that Mary and Gwen had brought from the wreckage of their carriage and went in search of the cup of tea, first among the necessities she must see to.

She didn't see anyone as she made her way carefully to the kitchens, trying to control the slight limp to her step that seemed to have resulted from her overexersions yesterday. She supposed she could blame it on the carriage accident and hope that noone noticed she had not been limping yesterday. If she did end up married to Thomas, and it was beginning to look remarkably like she would, then she would have to improve her stamina and flexability. 

As Rose rounded the corner towards the kitchen, the sound of low voices began to drift in her direction. Though not by nature the type to listen at doorways, she had learned that it was sometimes the only way to hear the truth when people of the noble class had something to say about one. She therefore slowed her steps and bent her head to catch the genteel voices conversing within.

"Come now, you cannot like this hasty betrothal any more than I do," came Mary's sharp tones, instantly justifying Rose's stealth.

"I don't know why you would assume that," Lucille purred in reply, sweet falsness ripe in her voice. 

"I say it because I saw the way you looked upon Rose," Mary scoffed. "If you could have rendered her dead with a glance you would have."

"You imagine things," Lucille denied, though Rose had to agree with Mary on this. "Besides, even if I was less than... enthused about the match, I am not my brother's keeper. I have no say over what he does."

"Balderdash!" Mary spat, shocking Rose at her use of such slang. "Anyone with eyes can see that yours is the true running of this home. Your brother is nothing more than a pretty cypher, as are most men."

"I would advise you not to underestimate Thomas," Lucille warned, voice betraying a hint of anger. "Or to slander him in my hearing. He is a genious. His inventions will one day change the world."

"Now you sound as much of a peagoose as Rose," Mary told her disdainfully. "Tell me, my dear, are you his sister or his mistress that you flatter him so?"

"How dare you!" Lucille hissed, and Rose was imensely grateful that the venom was not directed at her. "Say such a thing again and I will throw you from this house, Thomas' charitable whims be damned!"

"Ha!" Mary spoke triumphantly. "You see! It is you who has the final say, not your brother. Oh, do not look at me that way, girl. If you don't want people to speak the distasteful truth, try to keep your unseemly lust out of your eyes. I understand how it must be, stuck away out here with no other man of station to direct your urges onto, and I have already stipulated that he is handsome beyond what any man should be allowed. But none of this changes the fact that he is your brother, and some things are forbidden by the laws of both God and man. He will never be yours, my dear. Not in the way you wish. But that does not mean that you have to loose him to Rose. For one thing, I did not waste years on the girl to see her moldering away the rest of her life here among the dregs of society."

"No," Lucille agreed, "I am sure you wished her to form an alliance with a London dandy, so that you could continue to live like a parasite off of her for the rest of your old and useless life."

"Well of course," Mary said without shame. "That is the life of a widow. Or of a spinster. I would get used to the idea if I were you. Unfortunately for me, Rose is far too headstrong for either of our good. She did not take to any of the forementioned dandies. She has the quite unfashionable idea that a man should do something with his life other than be an ornament of some lady's salon. I fear your brother is just the sort of romantic dreamer, what with his genius and inventions that you laude. Couple that with his beauty and his obvious _tendre_ for her, and she would be unable to resist him."

"Well of course he would develop a _tendre_ for her, with the way she has made cow's eyes and thrown herself at his head," Lucille seethed. "The little tart might as well have shown up naked on the door step tied with a bow given how she has set out to trap him."

"My charge was a virgin before she entered this house, I would stake my life on it!" Mary at last rose to Rose's defense. "If she is not any longer, and don't think either of us is stupid enough to believe she is, it is the fault of your licentiously charming brother and not her. Had she any brothers they would be in their rights to call him out and put a bullet in his chest."

Rose paled at the idea of Thomas dying in a duel over her honor. Some girls, she knew, fantasized over such supposed "romantic" events, but she was practical enough to realize that there was nothing romantic about one's lover and family coming to deadly confrontation over one. For the first time she was glad that God had not blessed her with a brother, and that her father was not some young, foolish hothead to force a duel upon anyone for a "dishonor" that could be much more pleasurable settled at the altar.

"Let us put aside the matter of fault," Mary said with a sigh. "It is pointless for us to squabble about it. The deed is done, as they say, and all that is left is to sort out where we go from here. I think it safe to say that we cannot leave it to those two foolish children to manage the affair."

"Indeed not," Lucille agreed, though her voice still held a note of injured pride. "Your carriage should be repaired soon. I suggest you simply bundle her into it and be on your way. Thomas may sulk for a week or two, but I am sure something new will occur to distract him after not too much longer than that."

"Ah, but if they have been intimate, and let us agree that they undoubtedly have, there are other things to consider."

Rose blushed to hear her scandalous behavior so brazenly assumed, but could not fault Mary's perception.

"What things?" Lucille asked disdainfully.

"You are not stupid, girl," Mary was not one to suffer fools. "I speak of a baby. It is completely possible that your reckless brother has planted a bastard in Rose's womb."

Thomas had said as much yesterday, but hearing it so openly discussed had Rose's hands trembling as she pressed them to her abdomen. Doing a quick calculation on her fingers, Rose realized that Thomas had found his release inside her at least six times already. She was not entirely sure what the rate of conception was, but the possibility definitely existed that she even now carried his child. The thought, which should by rights have struck her to the quick with horror, instead sent a warm and tingling sensation curling through her body. 

"I don't see how that is any of my concern," Lucille said heartlessly. 

"Yours, no. But it is very much your brothers!" Mary said sharply. "While I do not wish my Rose to be abandoned to the back of beyond here, I must admit it is preferable to her bearing a brat out of wedlock. I will not allow scandal of that sort to be attached to her name!"

"No, it would not reflect well on you would it?"

"No, it would not. And whatever you might think, I do in fact care for the chit. If there is a child, there is nothing for it but to see them marry and make the best of it."

"What do you propose then?"

"There is only one solution, as I see it," Mary sighed. "Rose and I will remain here until she next bleeds. Once we have the proof that no babe grows inside of her I will find a way to spirit her off. It will be up to you to make sure your brother does not follow. I care not how you effect it, but it must be done. In the mean time, we must endeavor to keep them apart as much as possible. It has only been two days, and already we must worry that he has gotten her with child. There must not be opportunity for the odds to increase."

"I would rather you both leave at once."

"I am sure you would. I would rather your brother be an impotent toad with no address and the manners of a woodcutter. Are we in accord?"

A long silence stretched out, during which Rose realized she was holding her breath.

"We are in accord," Lucille said at last. "We wait to see if Rose is with child. When time proves she is not, we send her packing and you along with her."

Rose spun on her heel, tea forgotten, and fled back the way she had come. She had to find Thomas at once. She had been uncertain until now about the wisdom of his proposal. They had in fact only just met each other. Certainly there were all sorts of things that they did not know of each other of which spouses should be aware. While modern sentiment seemed to state that a husband and wife need not be too well acquainted, Rose had never subscribed to that way of thinking. Now though, hearing the plot being hatched to keep them apart, she realized that didn't care. She wanted to marry him. Wanted it with a ferocity that went beyond just the desire to keep bedding him.

Of all the men she had met, and sometimes it seemed that she had met every eligible man in England and most of Scotland as well, Rose could not think of one who came near to being so dear, so right for her as Sir Thomas Sharpe. He was kind - had taken her in and tended to her from the very first with a smile in his eyes and concern in his voice. He was intelligent, curious, had an ear for music she longed to indulge, listened to her when she voiced her opinion, was not so stiff in his honor that he refused to play with her in the snow... in short, he was just the sort of man she had been seeking in vain for the last years. That he was so unspeakably handsome was certainly a happy addition, and she would be untruthful if she didn't admit that it had contributed greatly to her quick tumble into his arms and his bed. That he wanted her was a miracle she was still half unable to believe. She would not, would NOT allow the meddling of others to drive a wedge between them.

Following her instinct, Rose took the creaky elevator up to the attic, blushing as she remembered him kissing her so breathlessly inside it just hours before. Her intuition proved true, as she opened the gate to see him bent over his workbench, dark hair falling down to shield his face as he toiled away at something.

"Thomas," she said, stepping into the room.

Thomas looked up with a warm smile that went all the way to his beautifully expressive eyes and hastily pushed whatever he had been occupied with under a cloth to his other side.

"Rose, darling," he greeted her, rising like the gentleman he was to his bones. "This is an unlooked for surprise! To what do I owe the pleasure? May I offer you some coffee? I have a pot here and it is still mostly warm."

"We have no time for that," she told him, crossing swiftly and pressing herself into his surprised but welcoming arms.

"Oh? Is there some task that beckons then?"

"Yes," she nodded, resolve firm in his voice. "One we must work on until it is achieved."

"And what is that my dear?" he brushed a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

"A baby, Thomas," she told him, seeing his eyes widen in shock. "You must put a baby in me. Will you, my dearest?"


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose shares her plan with Thomas and the conversation she heard which prompted it.

"Darling," Thomas laughed a bit anxiously as he took Rose into his eagerly awaiting arms. "Are you feeling quite well?"

To say he was startled was an understatement. Thomas had gotten very little sleep, only the small amount he had snatched fitfully as Rose had slept in the crook of his arm, the smell of her hair filling his senses as he drifted in and out. After he had left her to make her quiet way down to the room she now shared with her chaperone he had been taken by a sudden idea. Retreating to his work bench, he had begun work on a gift for her, just a small token of his affection that he hoped would never the less show her some of what she was coming to mean to him. As was often the case when Thomas had an inspiration, time had ceased to have any real existence for him as he tinkered away past dawn and into the late morning.

Now, eyes bleary and brain slower than he would like, he felt completely unprepared for Rose's sudden stated intent to conceive a child. Looking at her carefully, despite the very becoming blue morning dress with yellow flowers she had donned which suited her far better than Lucille's gowns had, he was worried to see that her face was flushed scarlet and her pulse seemed to be beating at an elevated rate. Her own eyes, normally so clear and bright, were stormy as well. A wave of concern swept over him as he wondered if their time in the drafty attic room had caused her to take ill.

"I feel perfectly fine," she avowed to his concern, determination stamped on her delicate face. "But I will be even better once we have tried again for a babe."

"I was not aware that we had tried the first time," he said in confusion, fighting against the distraction she was causing him through the act unbuttoning his linen shirt.

"Well, perhaps we had not specifically," she conceded, sliding her hands beneath the fabric to caress his chest with her palms, "but we are now."

Standing on her toes she brought her open mouth to his in a kiss that sent a wave of sharp desire shooting down through his body. Thomas moaned into her as his tongue instinctively sought hers while his arms tightened their hold around her slender form. She tasted like heaven - mint and fresh water and her. His hand fisted in her hair, tilting her head back to gain greater access, and she eagerly allowed him to have his way. Greedily her own hand slid down to find the ties for his pants, tantalizingly brushing against his now straining cock as she fumbled to release him.

"Rose," he gasped, pulling his head away with a super-human effort. "Rose, my dearest love, wait. Wait, please."

"You don't want me?" she asked, eyes huge and a bit hurt.

"Hush darling," he chuckled, kissing the tip of her nose. "I think we can both feel how ridiculously false that statement is."

"Well then..." her hands went back to his waistband, but he covered them with his own large hand and held them still.

"Darling, please believe me when I say that I appreciate the impulse," he told her, a light groan in his voice that he could not disguise as his lower brain screamed at him to shut up and take her now, "and if it is what you truly desire, I will gladly have you here and now as often as you like. Nothing, _nothing_ would give me more pleasure..."

Thomas stared at her, her lips puffy, eyes wanton, and hair mussed, and forgot for a moment why he had stopped her. Instinctively his hips canted towards her eager hands and he began to lean in to kiss her once more before stopping himself with an iron will.

"However," he sighed, to her obvious disappointment, "it is clear that something has upset you. Dearest, won't you tell me what it is?"

"You are far too clever," Rose pouted, looking at the ground.

"Not clever," he demurred, brushing her hair back from her face with his free hand, "just very focused on you, my love. Now, tell me. Did Mary discover your absence last night?"

Sitting back onto his bench, Thomas pulled Rose with him so that she was nestled onto his lap. It was the first time he had held her thus, and he found she fit perfectly into his chest, head coming to rest just under his chin.

"No, at least, I think not," she said, nestling against him like a kitten. "But you are not far off track."

"Ah, so it is Mary then," he guessed grimly. Drat the interfering old bat!

"Not just Mary," Rose said, "Lucille as well."

"Lucille!" this did shock him. He knew his sister was not overly enthusiastic about his sudden choice, but certainly she had no reason to object. 

"Yes, both of them," Rose's voice took on a hard edge. "I stumbled upon them in the kitchen. I didn't intend to but, well, I'm afraid I eavesdropped. And a good thing too! Thomas, they mean to separate us!"

"Darling," he tried for a calm voice, "if you only heard part of the conversation, perhaps you misunderstood. You must not jump to the worst conclusion."

"It was no misunderstanding!" she insisted. "I heard it all! They mean for Mary to take me away and Lucille to detain you so that you do not go after me. Neither one of them wants us together, each for their own selfish reasons."

"Well then," he paused a gave the matter some thought, "we will just have to come clean to them. I know it will be mortifying, to say the least, but they will have to be told. Once they know that I have... that you have been... well, shall we say, compromised... there can be no choice but to allow us to wed."

He had told Lucille, of course, though there was no reason for Rose to know he had been so indiscreet. His sister was probably just trying to protect his own good reputation by not sharing the information with Mary. Unfortunately he alone could no longer be her prime concern. Mary would have to learn the truth as well.

"Thomas, they know!" Rose groaned, turning to look at him, face reddening even more. "They were discussing it openly that we must be lovers."

"And they still want us to part?" he was aghast at the thought.

"They do," she affirmed, mouth pressed into a thin line. "In a month's time or less, Mary will bundle me off."

"A month? Why not leave now?" his brain was truly not working properly as he tried to puzzle it out, though the motives of the fairer sex were never the easiest to comprehend.

"Why do you think?" she rolled her expressive eyes. "Mary might be much more mercenary and high-handed than I had previously thought, but she is not without sense or pity. They are waiting to see -"

"To see if you are pregnant," he completed for her as she trailed off in embarrassment.

"Indeed."

"And if you are?"

"Then we must be wed."

"Ah. I see."

Thomas drew her to him and stared at the far wall with unseeing eyes. It made sense, he supposed. For the women to be, for whatever reasons, disapproving of the union was one thing. He himself did not see the cause for it, but he supposed they had their own logic. If whatever man Rose eventual wed, be it the gentleman she was intended to be visiting now or some other thrice cursed man, could be persuaded that she had lost her maiden head some other way (it could happen, he was told, through riding or various accidents) she might still marry with honor and no one the wiser. Hell, the gentleman might be too naïve or too self absorbed to even notice she was not still a maid. But a babe... that changed everything. Rose would never be convinced to give up the child, he knew that as surely as he knew that no power on Earth would cause him to abandon his offspring once he had sired them. No, were Rose to conceive, there was no turning back. Mary and Lucille would have to acquiesce to the wedding. Rose's plan made perfect sense.

As he looked down at her fondly, snuggled into his lap, Thomas once again imagined her big with his child. The thought was intoxicating. She would be an excellent mother, he was certain. Her empathy and spirit would ensure that no child of theirs would ever grow up the way he and Lucille had, in the shadows of spite and anger. Rose would teach their children to laugh and play, encouraging their exuberance and creating the kind of warmth that every child deserved. He longed to experience it all with her.

Still, as eager as he was to breed a whole gaggle of brats with her, and as much as he would enjoy the act of trying for them, he was unsettled. The conception of a baby should not be undertaken because of necessity, or to thwart unwanted interference. When he made a child with this delightful woman he wanted her to be thinking only of him and of the passion they shared. It might not be love as yet, although the romantic in him yearned to put that name to it, but he was quite sure it would become so. He did not want to taint that.

"Rose, my darling," he sighed, stroking her hair, "do you truly want a baby? Now?"

Her eyes looked up at him, confusion in their depths. Once again he was struck by how much had happened to her in so short a time. It had been momentous for him; how much more so must it have been for his dearest? After all, she was the one who had gone through that horrid accident, the trek through the storm, and above all else, had lost her innocence. With a surge of guilt he thought of how many times he had taken her yesterday. Her poor body must feel absolutely battered. 

"I do not want to be taken from you," she answered.

"That is not what I asked," he said with a small smile. "Though it thrills my soul to hear it."

Indeed, he was overjoyed that she was so resolute on the subject. There had been a few moments yesterday when she seemed prepared to flee his house and his arms. Perhaps the interference that had intended to drive a wedge between them had accomplished the opposite and strengthened her resolve. The thought gave him a distinct sense of satisfaction.

"I have always wanted a family," she said.

"Yes, but we are young still. We have all the time in the world. Tell me honestly, if we were not being threatened by outside forces, would you be hoping to conceive right this day?"

"Well..." she bit on her lower lip, making him long to do the same to it. "I suppose if there were no danger to our union, I would be content to wait. I would like time to get to know you better. Out side of the bedroom, I mean. To learn the house and the environment before I am the size of a horse."

"A sensible thought," he smiled. "And I quite selfishly would like to get to know you better inside the bedroom as well, before having to share you with another. I would like to take you on a honeymoon, though it would not be a dazzling one. To romance you as a woman of your exquisite beauty both inside and out deserves."

"When you put it that way," she looked at him with desire in her eyes, "it does sound rather inviting. But Thomas, what shall we do? One of them is formidable in and of herself, but both combined? I fear they will succeed despite our best intentions."

"Rose Dewlawn, if you are content to be mine, then nothing and no one will take you from me. Tell me, have you reached your majority? Can you legally be wed, or need you your father's permission?"

"I am old enough," she sighed. "Unfortunately, with the terms my father has set he must approve the match before I wed if I want to access my dowry."

"No need to look so downcast. It is a very sensible stipulation and one I might make for our children myself," he assured her. "How is this: I will write your father this very day to formally ask for your hand. I will explain my situation, my title (as you said that he hoped for one for you), and that we have developed a attachment to each other. You may add a postscript, if you will, reinforcing our intentions. If he agrees to the match, I can precure a special license and marry you within a matter of days."

"And if he does not?" she asked anxiously.

"Then, if you are willing, I will still produce the license and marry you," he replied, feeling the rightness of the answer. "I want you, Rose. Not your money. If you think you can be happy as a poor noble's wife, and can bring yourself to trust that my inventions may one day bring us our fortune, than I will marry you as soon as may be and damn anyone who thinks to prevent it."

The light that filled her eyes as he spoke the words proved to him more than anything else could that he had said the right thing. He did need the money. Desperately. But as he held her in his arms he was in complete conviction that he needed this woman more. He would do whatever it took to secure their future.

"Write my father," she said, raising a hand to run her fingers down his cheek. "I will convince him to accept the match. I am yours, Thomas Sharpe, and nothing will change that now."

Leaning down, he kissed her with all the love that was welling inside of him. Her mouth answered him unabashedly, tongue dancing with his own. It was as close as he dared come to a declaration of love, and she had answered it in kind. His heart was full with happiness. 

"Darling," he said, trying to keep the strain out of his voice, "I know we just made the case for _not_ trying for a babe at this very moment... however..."

With a lust-filled smile he felt to his toes, Rose wound her arms around his neck and brought him back down to kiss. 


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The battle lines have been drawn between the Lovers and those set on keeping them apart.

Thomas was as good as his word, writing her father a well worded letter formally requesting her hand in marriage. It was perfectly designed to subtly flatter him while also highlighting the advantages a union with a noble house would bestow. Rose thought it just the thing to sway her proud father towards allowing the match.

Of course, there was no need for the brusque older gentleman to know that Thomas had used his daughter's naked back for his writing desk as she lounged over his lap adding suggestions as to how to best convince him. It was also best that he remain ignorant of the fact that she had composed her own brief missive at Thomas' drafting table while the handsome baronet did his best to distract her while kneeling on the floor between her legs. It had taken three tries before she managed to produce a note that was at all legible. 

She knew this interlude was likely to be their last for some time. Even now Lucille and Mary were plotting against them somewhere below. Once they discovered that Rose was no longer abed they would begin searching the hose for her, determined to put distance between the two lovers. Armed with that awareness, Rose could not help but allow Thomas to do all that he liked to her while the opportunity still existed. She had to admit that her would be husband was creative in more ways then just with his inventions. When he sealed his letter and allowed just the smallest drop of the wax to fall onto her naked skin just above the cleft in her legs, Rose let out a moan that shocked her in its neediness. Thomas laughed darkly and drank in her voice, mouth claiming hers as he slid his body on top of and quickly inside her welcoming person.

Her prediction proved unfortunately accurate, however. They had just uncoupled after a strenuous round of love making, her soreness forgotten in her need for him, and were putting their clothing to rights when the noise of the elevator startled them from their sex induced bliss. Rose leapt to her feet, hoping that the smell of the oil lamps would somehow dissipate the scent of sex that still clung heavy to the air. Sitting at the table, ankles primly crossed this time, she wrote out her father's address in a neat if still subtly shaking hand, as though she had in truth just been innocently writing to her parent.

"Ah, there you are," Mary's clipped voice sounded as the two women stepped into the room. "I thought perhaps you had eloped to Gretna Green."

"Nonsense," Lucille purred, setting down a tea set on a silver tray. "My brother would never do anything so untoward, would you Thomas?"

"Of course not," Thomas choked out, face going a tell tale shade of crimson. 

"This is... quite the oddity," Mary opined, gazing around the room as though afraid that something was about to scurry out and bite her. "Rose, I must say I do not think this is a proper place for you. The draft, my dear. It will wreak havoc with your constitution. I don't know what you were thinking."

"I have often told my brother the same thing," Lucille sighed, pouring out the tea. "It was all well and good for him to waste his days here when he was a child, but as a man he would be better served in the more well kept parts of the house."

"Oh, are their bits I haven't seen yet?" Mary asked with bitter malice.

"Mary!" Rose hissed, shooting her chaperone a speaking look.

"Thomas, I know you take yours black," Lucille ignored Mary's rude question as she handed around the cups. "Rose, cream and sugar?"

"Just a spoon of sugar," Rose smiled, wishing she was as gifted as the two older women with acting as though this were nothing more than an ordinary midday tea. Her brain could not help but stray to the fact that just a handful of minutes before she and Thomas had been engaged in the most intimate, most shockingly prohibited of acts where they now all sipped their beverages and smiled.

"I have written to father," she spoke suddenly, needing to do something to dispel the tightness in her chest. "Thomas as well."

"Have you dear?" Mary murmured, raising an eyebrow at the abruptness of her statement. "What ever for?"

"I am requesting his permission to wed his daughter," the fact that Thomas' voice betrayed the same discomfort as Rose' made her somehow feel a touch better.

"And I have entreated him to grant it," she added, chin rising in a pitiful display of defiance.

"I see," Mary smiled without warmth. "Well, we will just have to see what the old gentleman says. Now, Rose, since we are at present without a maid, Miss Sharpe's one servant being overworked as she is, I am afraid I must prevail on you. We must unpack and hang all of our dresses and accoutrement. If we are to be staying here for a few days, as it seems we must, we shall comport ourselves as ladies of quality should. You will no longer be seen wandering around these halls in such states of dishabille."

Rose looked down at her pale yellow morning dress with its small blue flowers. She thought it quite pretty. True, she had not bothered with a petticoat or proper corset, but it was not as though they were to be receiving or paying calls. With a wry smile she realized that she was already thinking of Allerdale Hall as her home and Sir Thomas as her family. On instinct her eyes lifted and she met his depthless blue gaze. The smile, full of longing with a touch of amusement, went straight to her heart. Unfortunately, she also caught sight of his sister, eyes shifting between the lovers, and at the iciness in Lucille's eyes Rose felt all the warmth leave the suddenly frigid attic.

"If you give me the letter," Lucille suggested to her brother, holding out her very white long fingers, "I can see it is franked and taken to the post."

"No need," Thomas replied casually, slipping the paper into his pocket. "I plan to go into the village this afternoon anyway to pick up some supplies. I will drop it off on my way. Please, ladies, if any of you need anything let me know and I shall procure it."

Rose tamped down a triumphant smile at the quick glance exchanged between the two women. She had gotten through to Thomas, it seemed. She had no doubt that if Lucille had been responsible that letter would never have seen the outside of this house, fed instead into some fire. Thomas must have had a similar realization and moved to counter his sister. She was relieved that they were working in tandem. If they could continue to do so, they just might outwit their opponents and find a way to ensure their happiness.

That her happiness did depend, to a frightening extent, on the man seated next to her was no longer a question. She knew it was far too soon to put so profound a name to her feelings as love, but it nonetheless echoed deep within her. He could give her the life she had always dreamt of - a family with a man of intellect. One who respected her opinion and enflamed her passion. She would not allow the scheming of a pair of bitter women to thwart that.

"Come, Rose," Mary ordered, setting her tea down and rising from her chair.

With an ill concealed sigh Rose also stood, but as she did the room seemed to spin a bit. Hastily putting her hand to the table she felt her leg tremble beneath her.

"Steady, love," Thomas said, instantly rising to wrap an arm around her and anchor her to his firm chest.

"Sir Thomas!" Mary gasped, shocked at his liberty. "Remember your breeding!"

"Forgive me, madam, but the lady is obviously fatigued," he bit back. "Rose, darling, are you alright?"

"I am fine," she laughed, feeling embarrassed at the fuss. "Forgive me, I think I am still suffering a bit of exhaustion."

"It is no wonder," Lucille said with silky malice, "considering how... active your last few days have been. Perhaps a bit of lie down until dinner would do you well."

"Indeed, I think you are correct, Miss Sharpe," Mary nodded. "Rose, go at once to our room. I will be along shortly with a tonic for you."

"An excellent idea," Lucille nodded, all false concern.

"I am not a child," Rose snapped, realizing as she did that this was exactly what she sounded like.

"Then do not act like one," Mary smiled in return.

"Perhaps it is best, dearest," Thomas added his concern, causing her to melt a bit against him. "You have had a trying time of it. Perhaps I will look for something at the village shop to revive you. Until then, you must take care of yourself. For my sake, if not your own."

"You would think I was at death's door, not merely momentarily light headed," she groused as he walked him to the door. "Still, I am rather tired. Perhaps a nap would be just the thing."

"I shall have to keep you with me at all times, Sir Thomas," Mary said, "as you seem to be able to actually sway my stubborn charge. Indeed, I think I shall not let you out of my sight."

"I can think of nothing that would please me more," he said, looking rather queasy himself at the idea.

Rose suddenly had had enough. The attic, recently romantic and full of possibility, was cold and stifling. She needed to get out of there, away from the animosity and veiled threats that were making her head spin. With a last smile and squeeze of the arm for Thomas, she let Mary lead her to the elevator and down to their room. They were right, she needed rest. That would make the world stop its sudden spinning, she was sure of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A bit of a short chapter, but I wanted to get it out. I recently began a directing project, so my creative time is a bit more limited. I will still try to find time to write, I promise!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas has errands to run and emotions to come to terms with.

He chose to ride to the village rather than walk, cold weather be damned. In truth he had been over heated enough over the past two days that the cool air felt good against his skin. In addition to that, riding would be faster and the faster her completed his errand the faster he could return. 

Thomas paused for a moment and let the thought sink in. In all of his years, he realized, this might be the first time he actually wished to return quickly to his home. Until today the thought of that large pile of stone, cold and dark as a mausoleum, had filled him with a bleakness bordering on despair. Now though, now there was something - _someone_ waiting for him.

A smile lit up his face as he thought of Rose, but there was worry there as well. Since yesterday when she had lost her balance in the attic she had been experiencing dizzy spells. She had done her best to hide it, but he had tuned his awareness to her enough that he had caught the way she staggered a bit after dinner the night before. He had left her alone for the night, contenting himself with a long, lingering kiss in the shadow of a hallway while her vigilant chaperone prepared for sleep. The night had seemed to go on for ever, the knowledge that she lay just steps across the hall holding any hope for sleep at bay. In the end he had found the stockings she had forgotten in his room that morning and used them to bring himself some mild enjoyment, though it could not compare to being inside of her. Nothing could.

This morning she had stayed abed, pleading fatigue. He desperately hoped she had not caught a chill. He might never forgive himself if his selfish actions had caused her harm. Mrs. Jennings, that interfering wasp of a woman, had kept him from attending her, declaring it improper for him to enter her room. Thomas had resorted to calling to her from the hallway like an errant child, offering to stay at home and care for her. Rose had reassured him that she was just tired, and he could scarcely be surprised at that. She had entreated him not to delay in sending to her father, and it was not as though he could do anything for her from the hall in any case.

The fact that she was so anxious to obtain her father’s blessing was enough to convince him to go. If he got to the posting house before the mail coach left then Mr. Dewlawn might receive their letter by the end of the week. Assuming he consented, Thomas might have Rose to his wife before the month was out. The thought of her, his ring on her hand as she lay, inviting in his bed, spurred him to urge his horse on as visions of a different type of ride filled his head.

The letter safely placed in the hands of the post master, he wandered through the quaint streets until he found the shop he sought. As often happened he experienced a small pang that he could not be as free with his purse as he would like. Not that the little town had very much in the way of finery, but just this once he would love to be able to splurge on some of the costlier items in the small stores. With a rueful shake of his head he let his eyes wander over the contents of the shop. All manner of curios sat in dim display cases and lined the walls. Thomas determinedly turned his gaze away from a portrait hanging near the door to the back room. He had brought it here just months before when, desperate for money to repair their failing oven, he had been forced to sell the last of their art that they might have hot food for the winter. The old man staring out of the painting, his grandfather on his father's side, was sternly disapproving as his heir perused the wares in a thrice turned coat.

Shaking off the censure of his ancestor, Thomas turned his attention to the neat display of jewelry beneath clouded glass on the counter. The diamonds and rubies, one of which had formerly graced the hand of his dear sister, mocked him in their beauty. There was, of course, no money with which to purchase one of them, either to buy back Lucille's treasured piece or to acquire a new treasure for his intended. Still, even if he could not drape Rose in the luxury she deserved, he refused to let their betrothal go uncelebrated.

Ah, there it was! In the back of the display, outdazzled by the more ostentatious glamor of the others, was a small ring of gold. The slim band was made of two delicate strands that twined and twisted around eachother before the ends met to form a dainty, intricate flower. A Rose.

"Ah, Sir Thomas," the old man who ran the shop hummed, coming over to where he stood. "Have some more objects to sell? Those dueling pistols of yours made me a pretty penny last month!"

"Ah, Randolph, good day," Thomas smiled at the man, one of the few people of any learning in the vicinity, Randolph had retired here to his childhood home after making a handsome living off of a much grander shop in London. He had an excellent eye and a keen sense of value. "No, not selling today. Buying."

"Well! That is something new!" Randolph smiled, eyes gleaming. "Finally got that hellspawn contraption of yours working then?"

"Not yet," Thomas laughed. "Soon, I hope. I plan on making advances to it as soon as the weather allows."

"I see," the old man nodded, looking confused. "In that case..."

"How can I afford any of your overpriced knickknacks when I can barely afford bread?" Thomas finished with grim self mockery.

"Now, lad, don't take it hard," Randolph clapped him on the shoulder. "We've all had our setbacks in life. If anyone can make a go of that monstrosity it's you. Just wait, good luck will find you out sooner or later."

"Thank you, my friend," he smiled. "And, as a matter of fact, it has found me now! Congratulate me, Randolph, for I am to be married!"

"Is that so!" Randolph's face split into a wide grin. "Well, felicitations, Sir! And who is the young lady? No one from these parts, that's certain."

"No indeed," Thomas felt his eyes go soft as he thought of Rose. "A young lady from the south, one Miss Dewlawn. Lovely, talented, kind... I've just sent to her father to formally ask for her hand."

"Well, that is news! I am sincerely happy for you, Sir Thomas. If ever a man deserved a spot of good fortune it's yourself. I am sure the proud papa will grant his consent."

"From your lips, Randolph."

"Now, don't let me be keeping you when you have a young lady to attend to. Tell me what has struck your fancy."

"The gold ring, in the back," he said, looking at it fondly.

"Ah, you're a true gentleman, you are," Randolph nodded sagely.

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked.

"I've had this beauty for over a year," Randolph said, pulling out the case and taking the ring in question. "Some snooty thing in too many ribbons traveling be private carriage came in a time back, full of airs and not a lick of good sense. Seems a beau with no more judgement than she had gifted it to her. She was all nasty about it not having a proper stone in it and practically gave it to me for a song."

"I see," Thomas felt a worried knot form in his middle. Would Rose react similarly to the ring?

"Stupid little strumpet, if you don't mind my saying," Randolph scoffed. "Look at the artistry. The quality of the gold. The fineness of the work that went in to crafting the petals so that they could almost be alive! Why, if you ask me this ring is the finest thing in my entire store! I could sell it in London for a fortune to someone with a discerning eye. Here though? Those passing through on route to who knows where refuse to believe that something so precious could end up in an out of the way establishment such as mine, and assume it is just some trinket. More fool them. You though, you saw through the brilliant shine of the gaudy baubles and went right to the quality!"

Thomas wished he could give himself so much credit. In truth he had been drawn to the rose ring, but he had just thought it pretty and not wildly out of his price range. If it was as special as Randolph had intimated, however...

"What are you asking for it?" he asked, feeling his hopes sink.

"Not a thing," Randolph decided, beginning to polish the small gold ring.

"What do you mean? Is it not for sale?"

"I mean, consider it a wedding present," Randolph told him. 

"I couldn't possibly."

"I've had this poor little beauty languishing for ever and no one has so much as looked at it. A ring like this is meant to be worn. No, you've given me great business over the years, Sir. And I've taken advantage of you enough at that! I'll never get what I want for the ring monetarily, I resigned myself to that years ago."

"I don't know what to say," Thomas stammered.

"Just tell me this," Randolph asked. "Your young lady, is she the type to languish over diamonds and silks? Prefer the current fashion over things that matter and last?"

Thomas thought of Rose sitting at the dinner table, exclaiming over his description of his inventions. He thought of her traipsing through the mansion in his old dressing gown. For that matter, he thought of her traipsing through the snow in search of refuge. 

"No," he said, confident in his reply. "She is not that type at all."

"Then the ring is yours, and I will not take no for an answer."

Thomas was in high spirits as he cantered down the slowly melting path back towards Allerdale. He was careful of his mount - they only had the two horses now and Byron's stable mate was still nursing an ankle - but let the spirited animal reflect his mood. Rose would love the ring, he was certain of it. It would fit perfectly into the small, piano shaped music box he was fashioning for her. And once they were wed and the red clay was pumping from the ground to make them rich he would drape her in her weight of jewels should she so desire. She would outshine them all!

"Thomas, you're back," Lucille greeted him, coming into the foyer as he removed his hat and gloves.

The snow still swirled through the room from the breeze entering though the hole in the ceiling, but he refused to let it chill his mood. Snow could be beautiful. It could be warm and giving. It had given him Rose, after all.

"I am," he embraced his sister lightly. "Randolph says hello."

"What you see in that daft old man," Lucille sniffed disdainfully. "And what were you doing in the shop in any case? We have nothing left to sell!"

"Shopping," he said, smiling to himself as he patted his inner coat pocket. "A wedding gift for Rose."

"Shopping!" her voice skittered upward. "So that little baggage gets gifts while all of my belongings are bartered away?"

"Lucille!" he said, a warning tone entering his voice. "You will not speak of her in that manner."

"Everything, Thomas!" she seethed. "I have given up everything, done everything for you! For us! All I have ever asked in return is your loyalty. But do I get it? No! The moment a pair of soft eyes and large breasts bounce into the room you forget me in favor of the trollop."

"You will not speak that way about Rose!" he insisted, anger coloring his voice. "I am loyal to you, Lucille. I too have suffered hardships and made sacrifices. I will not sacrifice this. I will not sacrifice Rose on the altar of fraternal devotion!"

"You care more about your own perverted lust than your family. You would leave me to fend for myself, after all I have done to keep you safe. You betray me, all so you can drape your whore in gifts in hopes she will open her thighs for you once more."

"I said enough!" he roared, eyes blazing. "I said you will not speak of her in that manner."

"I will do as I like!" she hissed back. "And as for your precious Rose, I've talked to her companion. She needs the match approved in order to inherit. Once her father refuses your suit she will be out of our lives and you will regret the money you wasted on her and the rift you allowed her to cause in our home."

"I think not, Lucille. Permission or not, she will be my wife, and you will just have to live with that. I am marrying Rose, money be damned."

"You do not mean that," she scoffed. "Even you are not so stupid, and she can not be that skilled in bed. What could she possibly offer worth abandoning all?"

"Simple," he said, clarity descending on him in the midst of his rage. "I love her."

Before he could blink, much less react, Lucille's hand shot forth and slapped him hard across the face, sending him reeling backwards. Thomas blinked, his own hand going to his face where he could feel the bruise beginning to form. It had been years since he had been hit. Not since he was twelve, in fact. In stunned disbelief he blinked at his sister who had dedicated her young life to protecting him from violence.

"Lucille," he began, not knowing what he intended to say.

He was spared having to come up with anything, as she spun on her heel and with out another word stormed from the room.


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in on Rose as she tries to recover from her dizzy spell. She has a visitor and receives some information she would rather not hear!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Hope that you are all doing well and surviving the craziness in the world right now. I am hoping that the upside to being all but quarantined in NYC is that I will now have more time to write.
> 
> Hope you all are managing to keep anxiety at bay! Love you all!!!

Rose felt as though she was swimming through murky water that kept her from seeing so much as an inch in front of her face. She could swim, unlike many females of her acquaintance. Her father had realized early on that having an inquisitive daughter prone to a certain (in his eyes) reckless behavior and a home that sat near a deep, cool lake was a recipe for peril if said daughter did not know how to at least keep herself from drowning. The result was that Rose had spent many a happy afternoon steeling away to play mermaid in the depths of water that her fellow young ladies shuddered at in horror. Still, for all that splashing about, she had never been in a situation quite like this. Her brain was as foggy as the haze that seemed to surround her. Her limbs were heavy, seemingly encumbered by reeds that reached upward to grasp at her arms and legs and drag her back down. She was still breathing, but how long could that go on? Surely she would soon lose even the slight grip on consciousness she now possessed and slip into sweet oblivion.

But wait! a rogue part of her mind cried out. She did not want oblivion! Not now when she finally had some excitement in her life! Her blurry mind didn't quite know what the excitement was, but she knew it was there. A reason she needed to fight free of the seductive pull of nothingness.

"Miss."

She could swear she heard a voice hovering somewhere above her. Maybe it was an actual mermaid, the one she had never found in her pool as a child but her fanciful mind insisted lived there. It was a sweet voice, a bit timid but entreating her to the surface.

"Come now, Miss, you must try to wake!"

Despite Rose's best efforts to ignore it the voice didn't seem to be going away. Also, there was now a rocking motion that was disrupting the peaceful calm of the water. With great reluctance Rose gave an internal sigh and made herself strike out for the surface, deciding to see for herself what all the fuss was about.

As her eyes blinked open Rose discovered that she was not, in point of fact, outside in a familiar lake. Rather, she was in a decidedly musty smelling room lying on a most uncomfortable bed. Shaking off the dream that had so encompassed her she took in the concerned face staring down at her. Fine grey eyes looked out of a kind face that would have been homely if not for those attributes. Mousey hair somewhere between blond and brown stuck out beneath a shapeless mob cap and the dress she wore was a serviceable and featureless brown woolen sack. Rose believed she had seen her somewhere before, but could not quite place her.

"Oh, saints be blessed, your awake!" the woman said, a smile displaying unfortunate teeth that might have been thrown blind into her mouth. "I was ever so worried you were done for."

"Who?" Rose managed, fighting against the cotton that still seemed to wrap around her brain.

"Oh, of course. Wear be my manners? I'm Gwen, Miss. If it please you," she bobbed a slight courtesy.

"I would guess you were Gwen even if it didn't please me," Rose said wryly, hand coming up heavily to wipe across her brow.

"Oh... well, yes. I suppose I am at that," the woman laughed lightly. "I never really thought of it like that, but now that you says it... Anyways, Mrs. Jennings that ol' Dragon - er, I mean that lovely lady -"

"No need to blush, Gwen," Rose assured her, brain beginning to function a bit. "Mrs. Jennings is indeed a Dragon and proud of it. She sent you in to check on me?"

"She did, Miss," Gwen nodded gratefully. "You've been asleep for more than a day you see. The Master, Sir Thomas that is, was fit to force himself in himself! I've never seen him so distraught."

"Thomas," Rose breathed, memory coming back to her. Handsome, charming, clever, kind Thomas who wanted to marry her. Her, and not her money. "Is he alright?"

"Oh, he's fine, other than being in a right pet about Mrs. Jennings not letting him in. At least, well, he's a bit wrung out like, and I don't think he's slept if you'll excuse me for commenting on what I ought not."

"What makes you say that?" Rose asked, concern for him rising in her chest.

"His eyes, Miss. They look haunted. He must care for you quite a bit."

Rose looked at the plain maid with more awake eyes. Plain she was, but Rose would bet she saw much more that went on than most gave her credit for. There was a wariness to her on top of the timidity that Rose had sensed even before she woke all the way. Well, Rose thought unkindly, if she had to live with Lucille she might be warry too. Of course she would be living with Lucille if things went as planned.

"I care for him," was all she said aloud.

"I'm so glad," Gwen blurted out, then turned beet red to the roots of her hair.

"He's a good Master?"

"Ever so much so! Why, he is all that is kind and good. Not talking down to a girl, but always having a smile and even helping me out of the carriage, if you could believe it! Like I was a proper lady!"

"I can believe it," Rose smiled, thinking of her beau. "I have not known him long, but he has struck me as everything kind."

"You are kind too, Miss," Gwen ventured. "If you don't mind me taking the liberty."

"I don't mind at all. Thank you so much. But you say I have been asleep for a day and more? How is that possible?"

"Mrs. Jennigns said you were ill," Gwen told her, lowering her voice. "She said what we should call for a doctor, but there isn't one around these parts. Just the barber who fixes teeth, but he's not what you would call a man of medicine. You remember you were woozy Miss? Three days on?"

"Yesss," Rose nodded, the past returning. "I kept falling dizzy at the oddest hours. I thought it must be because I hit my head."

"That's what you told Mrs. Jennings and Miss Sharpe. They made you lie down and fed you tea and gruel. More tea and gruel than a body should have to stomach in my opinion! You was demanding to get up, but that Mrs. Jennings wouldn't hear none of it, nor of the Master coming in to see you. I have to admit I was a bit shocked that he tried to do that, Miss. It's none of my business what the gentry get up to, but it sounded deliciously scandalous to me!"

"It was deliciously scandalous of him," Rose felt a warmth suffuse her body at the thought of Thomas forcing his way into her bedroom. "I rather like that side of him," she added softly to herself.

"Well, what red blooded Englishwoman wouldn't!" Gwen agreed with feeling, then clapped her hands over her mouth at her own daring. Rose laughed as much as her weakened state would allow her. 

"No need to look guilty on my account Gwen," Rose assured her. "Sir Thomas is undeniably handsome, as well as being kind as you have said. I confess, I doubt from time to time if he is real rather than a fever dream of my own imagination! No mortal should be so perfect."

"You won't tell him, will you Miss?" she entreated Rose, eyes big. "That I forgot my place?"

"Your secret is safe with me."

"You won't tell Miss Sharpe either, will you?" now Gwen looked truly worried. "She'd put me out of the house straight into the snow."

"Throw you out?" Rose looked at her sharply. "Just for making an inappropriate comment?"

"About Sir Thomas? In a flat second. She don't like anyone to talk about, or even look at her brother wrong. She's worried about the family reputation, I'm sure."

Rose bit her lip at the way Gwen jumped to explain Lucille's over protectiveness of her brother. Rose had her own ideas of why Lucille acted as she did towards Thomas, ones she didn't like to look at too closely. Gwen, it seemed had hers as well. If Rose was to judge, she would guess they terrified the maid.

"I don't think we need bother Miss Sharpe," Rose placed a hand over Gwen's trembling one on the bed. "As I said, your secret is safe. But now, I suppose you should go let Mary, Mrs. Jennings, know that I am awake. And if you would be so good, hand me the tea on the table if it is warm? Forgive me for not doing it myself, I find I feel a bit weak."

"No!" Gwen shook her head forcefully and moved the tea cup farther out of reach.

"Oh, is it cold?" Rose was a bit taken aback by her actions.

"Maybe, but that's not what I meant. Don't drink the tea. Ever. Not unless me, you, or Sir Thomas brew it and you watch as it poured into your cup."

At first Rose wanted to laugh, but the intense, terrified look on Gwen's face made the smile vanish from her lips.

"What are you saying, Gwen?"

"I ain't saying nothing," Gwen insisted, eyes darting about.

"Gwen, please. I am a stranger here. If there is something wrong I need to know."

Gwen looked longingly at the door and that back at Rose, a torn expressing plastered to her face. Rose saw the choice she struggled to make dancing behind her eyes, and forced herself to stay silent rather than alarm the skittish maid and send her running from the room. She needed answers, and in her present weakened state she was in no condition to chase her.

"There was a maid," Gwen began, coming at last to a decision, "before I started here. I was just a lass in the village then, helping my mum with the washing and mending. This was some three years back now. She was from some fancy city - Brighton mayhap, or Bath? I don't right recall. Anyway, she was not like the folks hereabouts. Put on airs like she was better than everyone. So she comes to town with some letter of reference and of course what happens but Miss Sharpe insists they take her in as a maid. Finally someone knows how to make her look fine as fivepence the way she likes. Well, all was well for some time. Me and Mum would come up from time to time to help when they could afford to pay. So somewhere along the way, this maid gets it into her head what a fine man the Master is. Well, who wouldn't, as you yourself says! But this girl, she thinks here's a way out of her station. There are no quality ladies about, so Master must be lonely for feminine companionship if you take my meaning."

"Indeed," Rose murmured, blushing.

"Right. Well, she starts casting out lures for the Master, whether hoping for a slip on the shoulder or something more legitimate I couldn't tell you. But one day, Miss Sharpe catches her in Sir Thomas' room, and the girl weren't wearing no more than her petticoats!"

Rose fought down a wave of jealously. This was three years ago, the girl in question was a maid, and she had not thought Thomas lived the life of a monk before meeting her. Still, she did not like to think of anyone else in the bedroom where she had just days ago surrendered every last scrap of innocence to the man.

"Oh, don't mistake me!" Gwen flew to add, seeing the look in Rose's eyes. "Sir Thomas was elsewhere! As far as I know he never touched her, nor would he lay a hand on a girl in his service! Not him. Miss Sharpe though, she flew into a terror. Called the girl a gutter snipe and no better than she should be, along with all sorts of other nasty names I wouldn't call my worst enemy. She was all set to toss her out on her ear like the baggage she was, and who could blame her. But the girl runs to Sir Thomas, weeping about how she had just taken off her dress to clean the flu so she didn't get it all over soot or some such nonsense. The Master, being the kind soul he is, believes her or pretends to and forbids his sister from evicting her."

"How do you know all this, Gwen?" Rose asked, not wanting to listen to idle gossip despite her curiosity.

"We were in the house," she shrugged. "Mum and me. It was spring thaw, and we spent the week up here to help with the house cleaning. They can't afford more than one maid, but once a year they brought us in to help spiff things up a mite."

"I see. So you heard it yourself?"

"And my ears still have the blisters!" She confirmed. "So Miss Sharpe goes all quiet like and grimly agrees to let the girl stay on. The look of triumph on that strumpet's face. Oh, I wanted to slap her. But even I never thought she deserved what happened."

"What?" Rose leaned in breathless.

"Over that next week, she started to feel ill. Dizzy she said. At first mum and me thought she was just playing for Sir Thomas' sympathy, still trying to trap him. But Miss Sharpe, she gets all over concerned. Starts acting all nice to her - like to give you the shivers. And the dumb thing actually thinks the Mistress is regretting her harsh words. So she eats it all up when Miss Sharpe has her lie down. And brings her tea."

The look she gave Rose as she spoke the last words could have filled a novel.

"Tea?" Rose prompted.

"Tea. And the girl drank it, for three days. She played the invalid, I thought. But something must have been wrong for real. The third day she tries to go for a walk, hoping to see the Master I have no doubt. I will never forget it, Miss, not for as long as I live. I was standing at the bottom of the stairs, polishing the banister. And out she topples, eyes sightless and hands to her head. She staggers a few paces and then blam! Down she falls, fist to the floor and then down and down and down the stairs she rolls, to land at my feet. Dead."

Rose stared dumbly at the girl, not wanting to believe what she was implying.

"And you think Lucille..." she said at last, finding her voice.

"What I think," Gwen said resolutely, locking eyes with Rose, "is that it be a very dangerous thing for any young lady in this house to hope to catch the Master’s eye. And if they did happen to do so, well! Then I would certainly be careful where I stood and what I drank. If you take my meaning, Miss. And that is all I care to say."

With a nod of finality, Gwen turned and made for the door, taking the tea cup with her.

"Gwen, wait!" Rose called after her, head whirling. 

"Miss?"

"Forgive me for being blunt, but it is clear you yourself have feelings for Sir Thomas, though I'm sure you would never behave inappropriately. Aren't you afraid for yourself to stay here?"

"Oh, bless your heart Miss!" Gwen burst into gales of laughter. "As if the Master would ever look twice at the like of me! But thank you, Miss for saying so!"

And still laughing she made her way out of the room, leaving Rose with great deal to think on.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas is desperate for Rose's recovery.

"Thomas, if you don't stop pacing you will wear through what little carpet we have left."

Lucille's voice, once so soothing to his nerves that nothing else could calm him, scratched like nails inside his head. 

Two days. It had been two days since he had returned from the village, ring tucked securely in his pocket that would seal his betrothal to Rose. Two days since he had been met with his sister's contemptuous rage. Two days doing little more than waiting while Rose, his dear, sweet, precious Rose languished in and out of sleep. And through all of that time he could do nothing, not even see her.

He had sent their groom off yesterday to fetch the nearest doctor, but it would be tomorrow at earliest before they returned. Earlier that day Thomas had gone near to nocking aside the gorgon tending to Rose and forcing his way into her room. It was only the presence, cowering in the shadow of the hall, of the servant Gwen that had held him back in the end. He gave not a fig for his own reputation, but he would not have his betrothed subject to the gossip of her own soon to be servants. Biting off an oath not fit for female ears, he had vowed that if she were not better by that evening no manner of niceties would keep him from her side.

"Shall I play for you, dearest," Lucille asked, ignoring the glare he sent her way. "That always helps your mood when you get restless."

"I am not restless," he bit off the words. "I am not some child you can lull with music and a sweet, Lucille. Nor is my distress caused by some fear of mother's cane. That is my bride above, in case you have forgotten, and she has been fighting for consciousness for days."

"Perhaps you should consider yourself lucky," Lucille remarked with a callous tilt of her shoulder.

"And why would I feel any such a thing?" his voice was low and dangerous, but his sister ignored the timbre in it.

"Well, if she is a sickly thing it is best to know it before you are saddled with an invalid for life. As I see it, you were best rid of her now if this is all she is fit for."

Thomas growled low in his throat and spun to face the woman who had been his closest confident and companion since birth, murder gleaming in his eyes.

"Stop it, Lucille," he spit out, eyes flashing fire. "You will cease this hostility at once. I don't know why you have taken it into your head to dislike Rose, but you will do well to learn to live with her."

"If she is to live, indeed I will do so," she shrugged, but then her face softened and she crossed to him and placed a conciliatory hand on his arm. "Thomas, I mean no harm to Rose. I wish only to protect you. You know the life we have here, how harsh and unforgiving it is. Not all can endure its riggers. Perhaps your Rose is not a flower best planted in blood red soil. I am not asking you to forsake her, simply to maintain some of your heart for yourself, lest you be left with none if she leaves you."

"She will not leave," he said stubbornly, beginning to pace once more.

"As you say," she sighed.

He was just turning to mount the stares and once more demand a report on her progress when the mouse like Gwen came scurrying down the steps. As always, the maid averted her eyes the instant she realized he was in the room. Sometimes Thomas wondered if she held him in abject dislike, so completely did she try to ignore him. Every once in a while, however, he would catch the ghost of a smile play about her face and bright grey eyes in response to a comment he would make and revise his opinion.

"You have been to tend Miss Dewlawn?" he asked now, pouncing on her and sending her backwards a handful of steps, almost dropping the tea tray she carried.

"I have, Sir," she said in little more than a whisper, bobbing her head.

"How is she? Is she awake? Did she ask for me?"

"Thomas, let the poor girl breath," Lucille chided beside him. 

"Tell me. Now," he insisted, ignoring her.

"She's awake, Sir," Gwen stammered. "And talking. She sent her greetings and apologizes for distressing you, if you please."

"Thank God," he breathed, sincerely grateful.

"Why are you bringing down her tray?" Lucille asked. "She has hardly had a drop, nor a spoon of the porridge. She will need it to keep up her strength."

"Please, Madam, it's all gone cold. My mum says you mustn't let the sick drink cold tea, nor eat cold gruel, lest it add to the cold in their chest. I'll just warm her some more and bring it right back up in a trice."

"You will warm it, Gwen, but I will bring it to her," Thomas said firmly.

"You will, Sir?" Gwen squeaked, eyes going wide as they flashed up briefly to his.

"I will. Go on with you, and be quick about it."

"That girl is growing impertinent," Lucille opined, following Gwen with hooded eyes. "I think it may be time to seek her replacement."

"Gwen? Impertinent? The girl barely talks or lifts her eyes."

"That is because she is enamored with you."

"Don't be absurd," he scoffed.

"You are blind or stupid, as are most men. She follows you everywhere with her eyes. She seeks to curry favor with you. And who can tell what harm she might do to your precious betrothed to clear the way."

"You have taken leave of your senses," he pronounced, and strode away to the kitchen.

When he entered the room to hover over his maid he discovered that rather than heat the cold tea as they were accustomed to doing in their cash starved home, she had instead begun heating a new pot of water over the stove. The porridge, or gruel as she more fittingly called it, had likewise been set aside. In its place Gwen had unearthed an apple and a heel of bread from the cupboards.

"Now that looks more appetizing," he said approvingly, nodding to the food. "I never understood who could get well eating gruel."

"As you say, Sir Thomas," she murmured. "Especially _that_ gruel."

"Is there such a thing as decent gruel?" he asked, dipping his finger into the lukewarm bowl and holding it up to examine the unappealing mush. Without thinking, he went to put his finger in his mouth, he supposed in retrospect as a way to suffer with Rose, when Gwen shrieked and hit his hand, causing him to stumble backwards.

"What the devil?" he asked, looking at the maid as though she had lost her mind.

"I am so sorry, Sir Thomas," she gasped, eyes going wide. "I should not have... that is, I didn't mean to... Oh, lord, I struck you!"

To Thomas' horror, Gwen turned away and buried her face in her hands with a sob.

"It's alright, Gwen," he said, speaking as one would to a frightened animal. "I am assure you, I am uninjured. But why would you do that?"

"I... I had no reason, Sir," she whispered.

"Gwen, look at me," he commanded sternly.

Reluctantly she raised her head and struggled to meet his eyes.

"Why didn't you want me to eat the porridge?"

"Well, Sir," she hedged, "Miss Dewlawn has been sick. And, well, some sickness is contagious. I just... I just didn't want you to fall ill, Sir. Not with what the young Miss has."

It made sense, he supposed, but Thomas couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to the maid's actions than she was saying. Still, he let her get on with fixing new tea for Rose, anxious as he was to take it up to her. The task finally complete, he firmly took the tray from her trembling fingers and stalked out of the kitchen, determinedly mounting the stairs.

As he reached the landing, Thomas wielded the tea tray before him like a battling ram, ready to seize the fortress of her bedchamber. In the event, however, it proved unnecessary. The door to the guest chamber was slightly ajar, and all it took was a press of his elbow to open it enough for him to step in. 

"Thomas!" Rose's voice, weak but there, reached his ears before his eyes could focus on where she lay.

Shoving the tray into the unexpecting hands of Mary Jennings, who had risen from Rose's bedside upon his entrance, Thomas crossed the room in two long strides and dropped to his knees next to where Rose lay. His desperate eyes struggled to take in every last inch of her not buried beneath a mountain of blankets. Her face, while still lovely, was pale as parchment with dark circles shadowing eyes that looked deathly tired. Her smile was wobbly as she returned his gaze, teeth reaching out to bite her lower lip as he made perusal of her.

"Well, really!" Mary gasped from behind him where she was adjusting the tray unceremoniously thrust into her hands. "Sir Thomas, this is most unseemly."

"I care not," he said, not looking away from Rose for a moment. "Let propriety be damned, I must see for myself she is alright. Rose, my dearest love, how do you, honestly?"

"Very week, in truth," she said, as he took her ice cold had and brought it first to his lips and then to cradle against his cheek in an effort to warm it. "Though I am mortified at all the fuss being made over me."

"Perhaps if Sir Thomas would moderate his more dramatic tendencies," Mary put it in icily, "you would not need feel so chagrined."

"Moderation be damned," he swore, eliciting a gasp from the older woman and what he could swear was a choked off laugh from Rose. "You were in distress, my darling. I insist on offering assistance in such a case."

"And what assistance could you be, or any one else, while she slept?" Mary questioned.

"That will do," Rose surprised him by saying firmly, despite her lack of strength. "Mary, I will speak with Sir Thomas alone."

"Rose, think of your reputation!"

"Hang my reputation," she responded with feeling. "Mary, I love you, truly, and appreciate your concern. But Sir Thomas and I are to be wed, after all. And really, what do you expect him to do? Seduce me on my sick bed?"

"I would not put it past him," Mary muttered. 

"Well, I would," Rose replied. "Now please, Mary. Give us a moment alone. I swear we will do nothing improper. In truth, I have not the strength."

"You, Sir, are a bad influence," Mrs. Jennings intoned after a long, weighted silence. "Very well. I will be just outside the door - which _will_ be left ajar. You have five minutes. Try, if you please, not to overtax her."

"Darling!" he sighed, the moment the chaperone walked out of the room. "You had me so worried, my love."

"I am so sorry," Rose groaned, hiding her face in her free hand. "I don't know what to say."

"Do not be ridiculous," he scolded gently, brushing her loose hair off her brow as he kissed her hand once more. "You have nothing to be sorry for. But tell me, do you often get such dizzy spells?"

"Never!" she shook her head and then grimaced at the feeling it caused. "Occasional headaches, but certainly nothing like this! I can't think what could be causing it."

"You say that, love, and yet your eyes tell a different story. I don't suppose... Rose, could it be that you are with child?"

"Thomas," she laughed, sounding legitimately amused. "We only were together for the first time the day before my dizzy spells started. That child would have to be quite the prodigy to effect me so quickly."

"Yes, I suppose so," he hung his head, chagrinned. "I suppose it was but a hope."

"And I am delighted it was a hope rather than a fear," she smiled gently at him. 

"Of all things that might make you feel ill," he told her, "that is the only one in which I might find some joy. But what made your brow cloud over when you first spoke of cause?"

"Thomas, did you have a servant before Gwen, one who died?"

"You mean Jane Almand, I suppose. Yes, poor girl. She slipped and fell down the stairs. Why? What of her?"

"Was she... perhaps... a bit enamored of you?"

"Who has been filling your head with such tales?" he felt the flush that suffused his face at the memory.

Jane Almand had been a beautiful woman. Polished, poised, everything he and Lucille had missed when they had returned to Allerdale after years away at different institutions, his of learning hers... otherwise. He had been aware of her desire for him, it would have been impossible not to be. But while he had been tempted - he was a man, after all, and had been alone a good long while - his own moral code had forbade him from fraternizing with a servant. Even one so desperate to be fraternized with. While he had refused to let Lucille dismiss her out of hand, he had to admit a twinge of relief when she had suffered her tragic accident. 

"That is of no matter," Rose said. "Is it true?"

"I suppose she might have been," he admitted. "Lucille certainly thought so. Why, my little angel? Are you jealous?"

"If I am to be jealous of every woman who fancies you, Thomas," Rose said dryly, "I suspect I will have very little time to do anything else. I know you were not a monk before you met me. I might not like to think of you being intimate with another woman, but I do not judge you for it."

"On my honor, Rose, I was never intimate with Jane Almand, nor any other person in my employ," he swore to her. "And further, I can honestly tell you that I have never been remotely as intimate with any woman as I have been with you. You, my sweet Rose, have possessed more than my body. You have seen my soul and my heart."

"Thomas," she said breathily, rising slightly to meet his descending lips.

It had been days since he had kissed her last, and he was half convinced he would die himself if he did not rectify that. He kissed her long and deep, tasting the minty tooth powder she had obviously availed herself of as he plumed the depth of her mouth. Far from pushing him back, Rose met him kiss for kiss, tongue dancing with his as they reacquainted themselves in a deeply personal way. When he at last pulled away from her with a groan he was breathless and fully aroused for her.

"Much more of that and I shall break my word to your gorgon," he groaned, enjoying the disappointed look on her newly rosy face.

"Would that be so bad?" she asked innocently, making him strain against his breeches even more with her enthusiasm for him.

"And she says I am the bad influence," he said with feeling. "You, my darling, will be my death. But such a sweet ending as any man would wish. No, love. You need your rest. And I am not so far beyond the pale as to seduce you with the door open and Mrs. Jennings right outside."

"I am not all that tired," she said, sulkily. "And I am not a child."

"No, do not pout my dearest Rose. I shall have you soon, you may depend on it. It would take far more than she to keep me from your sweet body. Remember, love. I have claimed you. All of this," he ran his hand lightly down her body beneath the blankets and was rewarded by feeling her shiver to his touch, "belongs to me now."

"_Thomas_," her voice was sin made sound and almost broke his resolve. Only his genuine concern for her health kept him from throwing caution to the winds and having her then and there. 

"We have time, love," he assured her, kissing her chastely. "All the time in the world to learn more of each other and how we may bring one another bliss. For now, know that I am here and will do all in my power to keep you safe. Your father should by this very day have my letter, and I hope to hear from him shortly. Soon, my Rose, very soon, one way or another you will be my wife. Then no one shall keep me from you ever again."

"It cannot be soon enough," she answered, heat in her voice and her eyes blown black.

"Amen to that. Now, rest my darling. Mary will be back I trust, but I shall stay here and watch over you as well."

"She will not like that."

"Observe how much I care not. Rest Rose. I will keep you safe."

It was a vow he swore to himself he would keep, despite the newly kindled warning that burned inside his chest.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille pays Rose a chilling visit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for your patience with this story. While I had hoped that being stuck in isolation would give me more time to write, the opposite seems to be true. Between lack of alone time with the hubs always here and the anxiety of the world at the moment writing has been hard coming. All that said, I hope you stay with me! I promise not to abandon it.
> 
> As always, thank you for any feedback or comments - it honestly makes my day!
> 
> Oh, and feel free to find me on tumbler!

For the next day and a half Rose drifted in and out of consciousness. She would wake, heavy headed and exhausted, to the sight of the threadbare room in the flickering light. Most of the time Thomas sat in the armchair to one side of the bed, sometimes dozing himself, more often pretending to read a volume of prose that he would drop to his lap the second she stirred. He looked worn out from worry, but continued to assure Rose that he was fine, resting comfortably in his chair while he watched over her.

The straight backed, far less comfortable looking seat between him and the bed was always occupied as well. Sometimes it was Mary, stiff and anxious with her embroidery in her ever busy hands. Other times Gwen would perch on the edge of the chair, looking intensely uncomfortable in her role as chaperone to the master and his sleeping paramour. Rose could only imagine the battle of wills that must have been waged between Thomas and Mary that resulted in his being allowed to remain, but never alone. She wished she had the strength to laugh at the scene her mind envisioned.

Mary had shooed Thomas out of the room on one occasion, so that she and Gwen could strip Rose of her dress and bathe her with a dish of cool water and a sponge. Rose had blushed to the roots of her hair when her feeble protests had been unable to keep them from uncovering the fading marks Thomas had left on her fair skin. Gwen had gasped and looked away quickly, while Mary had pointedly ignored them with a tight lipped expression that left Rose with no doubt as to her disapproval. When she had been rerobed in a light pink nightgown and had her hair brushed out, the door was opened again Mary seethed at Thomas with a silent censure that made him tug at his cravat as though it was choking him. Gwen had quickly come up with an excuse to be anywhere else and hurried from the room. Rose had heartily wished that she could have joined the skittish made.

She had eaten a bit as well, fed like a child by one of her caregivers. Though she insisted she could manage, Thomas and Mary had joined together to insist that she be coddled like an infant as they lifted spoonfuls of soup - the same soup they had made the first night she believed - to her lips. She supposed she was glad they had agreed on something, though she was a bit put out that they were treating her as such an invalid. 

"You are sick, darling," Thomas had said, concern dampening his bright eyes. "You must get well again, so that we can begin our new life together."

She supposed he did have a point. As he tended to her so devotedly Rose continued to imagine a life of waking up to his face, to the sound of his voice, deep and vibrating with emotion, and to the feel of his hand caressing her face. More and more she was becoming convinced that such a future was the only one that could bring her happiness. And so she smiled at him and dutifully allowed him to feed her, reveling in his care, before drifting off again to a fitful slumber once more.

"Well, you are being long about it, aren't you."

The voice cut through her dream like a hot knife through butter.

Rose groaned as she opened her eyes and looked automatically to the arm chair where Thomas had all but lived for the past while. In his place, sipping negligently from a chipped tea cup, sat Lucille. Her blood red dress was bright contrast to the dreariness of the room, but only served to heighten the severe beauty of the woman. Rose could only imagine the swathe that she would have cut through society had she not been sequestered here, out of sight and society, and for a moment she pitied the other woman. Who would not have dipped into grief and anger at having all avenues of happiness cut off? It was a wonder that Thomas had not likewise succumbed to the darker instincts of humanity.

"Long about what?" she asked in a gentle voice, husky from sleep and thirst.

"About dying, of course," Lucille replied with a catlike smile that killed every impulse of sympathy Rose had been leaning towards. "That is what you are doing, you know. Didn't you realize?"

"You lie," Rose rasped, instinctively pulling the bedspread up around her as though it could protect her from the malevolence radiating towards her.

"Ah, but I do not. Your tenders may not know it, but I recognize all of the signs. I have seen it before, you see."

"Where are they?" Rose asked, eyes darting around the room in search of an ally.

"Gwen is seeing to our supper - she does have others to look after besides yourself, you know. As for the old battle axe you brought with you, even she could not stay awake for ever. She is sleeping in the next room. I am convinced she will not wake for some time. But don't worry, I will take care of you."

"Thomas?" Rose asked, the word leaving her lips like a prayer.

"Oh, do not look to see him for some time," the smile on Lucille's face broadened, smug and belittling. "A delivery arrived an hour ago - parts for his beloved machine. He could not wait to rush out and get to work."

Rose's tongue darted out to moisten her lips as she tried to push down a wave of disappointment that Thomas would so abandon her. After all, he had been by her side for days; who was she to begrudge him a space of time to tend to his own affairs.

"Ah, you mustn't be hurt by his abandonment," Lucille assured her with mock sympathy. "It is the way of things, you know. He was taken with you, I can admit that. A pretty new toy to alleviate the boredom of a week of idleness. But did you really think that infatuation would last?"

"You know nothing about it," Rose insisted.

"Nothing about Thomas?" Lucille raised an eyebrow speakingly. "I know him better than he knows himself. It took only a new shiny object to divert his attention and you, my dear, were all but forgot. Oh, he may spare a thought or two for the little injured bird he abandoned, but it will not be enough to pry him from his work. Did you think he would be here to hold your hand and coddle you while you died? That he would be so swallowed by grief that it would consume him when you are gone? I am afraid you give yourself too much credit. He will be sad, of course. He may even mourn for a period of days, perhaps even weeks. And then he will shrug and go back to the things he truly cares about. His work, this house, and me. We are his constants. You a passing fancy that will fade as quickly as you arrived."

Rose weighed Lucille's words in her mind, searching for the truth of them. She had begun her affair with Thomas in an rash, impulsive manner. In addition, it had been Rose who had pushed matters to the point where they had become lovers, Thomas striving from the start to do the proper, honorable thing. Was it no more than Lucille had said? Was Rose merely pleasant distraction from the tediousness of being trapped alone in the storm? Yes, he had offered for her once they had coupled, but Thomas was nothing if not well bred. He would be incapable of not acting the way chivalry demanded of a man who debauched a gently reared young woman.

"That cannot be all it was," she said aloud, though as much to herself as to Lucille.

"Oh, of course not," Lucille agreed pleasantly. "There was also the money, of course. We do need it desperately, you see. And he would not be doing his duty to his family name if he did not attempt to secure our future. How fortunate it must have seemed, therefore, for an heiress of easy virtue to land like a gift on his doorstep. It is a shame you will be gone before the dowry is settle, but these things cannot be helped. Not worry, though. We will find another pretty little piggy bank to fund us."

No, no! she thought despairingly. It was not as Lucille was making it sound. She and Thomas had shared parts of themselves over the past days as she had never done with another, and not only physically. She had opened her soul to him, and felt his welcoming her in in response. She would not let this woman cheapen what had passed between them. Thomas was not what Lucille was making him out to be.

"I don't believe you," Rose said at last, sitting up a bit in her bed.

"Believe what you want," Lucille said with an indifferent shrug, "but I assure you, you have warmed his bed for the last time."

With this cold prediction, steeped as it was in venom for all its supposed indifference, Rose flashed back to the conversation she had overheard between Lucille and Mary in the kitchen. Mary's voice echoed in her mind, scorning Lucille for the lust that shone in her eyes when she discussed her brother. _ "Are you his sister or his mistress?"_ she had asked. The truth, lurking there from the start, was suddenly blazingly clear to Rose.

"You are jealous," she breathed, knowing the truth as she uttered it. "You are nothing more than a jealous woman pining for a love so obscene that it dare not be spoken."

"How dare you!" Lucille hissed, standing and taking a step towards the bed.

"How dare I?" Rose's voice skittered upward. "How dare you? How dare you try to come between your brother and a chance for happiness? And all because of your own perverse desires to have him for yourself? Do you really think, even if I am out of the way, that he would ever stoop so low? To bed his own sister? An act despised by God and man alike? Would you make him the abomination you are to slake your own lust?"

"Ignorant whore!" Lucille spat, hand flashing out to slap Rose across the face. "You have no idea of what you speak! Thomas and I are bound in a way you could never understand! Our love is beyond what an insulant gutter snipe like you could ever hope to experience. He will never be yours, do you hear me? Never!"

Rose gaped at the woman, eyes flashing brightly in her delusion as she stood above her raving.

"Get out!" she insisted, trembling hand pointing towards the door. "Get out this instant! I shall tell Thomas about this and you shall see how wrong you are!"

"Go ahead," Lucille smiled darkly, pulling her insanity inward in a quiet that was far more menacing than her outburst had been. "Go ahead and tell him. Try to turn him against me. It will be the death knell of his petty affection for you. He knows who I am, what I have done for him. He will never put me aside. I have lived for him, killed for him. Do you think the whim of a spoiled girl will separate us? Especially one who will not be around much longer?"

"I am not dying!" Rose insisted desperately.

"Oh, not as quickly as I would like," Lucille admitted. "Those damn interfering women have seen to that. But it is only a matter of time. You have one choice, my little whore. Leave this house, by this time tomorrow, or you will never leave it again. I will see to that, and no one will stop me. You would not be the first trollop I have put an end to for Thomas' own good."

"Jane Almand," Rose whispered.

"Ah, so I see the traitorous maid has been spreading tales out of school," Lucille said. "Yes, Jane Almand was the slut's name. Prettier than you, if not so wealthy. Just as unworthy of my brother's affection. I made short work of her. Not as satisfying as if I had seen her fall myself, of course, but a more plausible deniability I suppose. And then there was mother."

"Mother?"

"Has Thomas not told you?" Lucille all but purred. "In all of those conversations of the soul, did he never once confess how our mother died? You'll have to ask him about it. If you are alive to do so. He was distraught for a moment or two of course, as he will be when you die, but it was a short time before he was convinced of the wisdom of our actions. He is quite loyal to me you know. I could never have done it all without him."

Rose stared horrified as the woman finished her tea quite calmly and turned to pick up the tray without a sign of discomposure. Lucille was a villain, she no longer doubted that. But the woman had murdered her own mother? With Thomas' consent and assistance? The thought was monstrous.

"You look pale, my dear," Lucille said, her voice all concern. "I will go fetch you more tea and porridge. And don't fear, I will make it myself so it is just the thing."

With a last, evil smile she strode from the room, leaving Rose alone with thoughts more chilling than the winter wind that whipped through the cracks in the window pane.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille and Rose struggle to claim Thomas' soul. Will he choose love or obsession?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So after struggling for two weeks to write the last chapter, this one just flew out of me! And I have to say, I am a little in love with it. I hope you all enjoy it. 
> 
> Trigger warning for description of violence typical to the genre.

Thomas was in a foul mood as he peeled off his snow covered coat and tossed it onto the table in the foyer. Rubbing his hands together to try and work some warmth into his sore, grimy fingers, he cursed his carelessness as he noted new scrapes and bruises. He was not usually so thoughtless as he worked. His clay harvesting machine was the pinnacle of his inventions after all. As the vehicle that would allow him to recoup their fortune and restore his family name, it had become the passion of his life, an all encompassing mistress. Until now it seemed, as a new mistress had superseded it in his thoughts. For even as he installed the new parts, bought at dear expense from a forge in London, Thomas had found his thoughts drifting away from his prized machine and into the spare bedroom where a woman more precious than any collection of gears and pistons lay languishing in a fitful slumber.

"Gwen!" he called, voice echoing through the cavernous chambers. "Gwen, where are you?"

He would need to clean himself up before he saw his Rose. He could not go to her sick room covered in grease and sweat, but even that delay was chafing. It had taken all of Lucille's persuading to convince him to take a break from his bedside vigil. Considering how excited he had been to order the parts just two weeks prior, the disinterest he felt now in their arrival was remarkable. But of what interest could they be when his future, his salvation, lay suffering? It was only the suggestion that his hovering might be keeping his Rose from her rest that had sent him begrudgingly outside. Alas, he had been worse than useless there as well, only succeeding in catching his hand between the moving pieces of metal and just barely escaping permanent injury. There was simply no focusing elsewhere when even a chance existed that Rose might need him.

"Gwen! For God's sake where are you?" 

Damnation, but the girl was never this hard of hearing. He wanted to check on Rose's progress before he took himself off for a much needed bath. Gwen was usually lurking somewhere about, unobtrusive, doing her best to blend into the woodwork, but ready on the instant to be of service. Taking a deep breath he tried to calm himself. It was not the poor girl's fault he was in such a devil of a mood.

"Thomas, what on earth is the matter?" his sister asked, entering the room with her delicate step. "Do you wish to bring the remaining roof down upon our ears?

"You said you would sit with her," he said with none of his usual solicitation. "Did you leave her alone? Why are you down here?"

"I am making her tea," Lucille replied, voice full of hurt and recrimination. "Why are you back? You could not have finished already."

"I have done as much as I can today," he told her tersely. "A few days will be of no matter to the cursed machine, but they could be everything to Rose. I should be with her."

"You will smother the girl," Lucille told him.

"Nonsense," he bit off, then made his voice soften. "How is she, Lucille? Truly? And where is Gwen?"

"As for Gwen, I have unfortunate news," Lucille sighed, voice conveying a world of regret. "I am afraid she has left us."

"Left us? What do you mean? You could not have dismissed her now!"

"Yes, blame me as you always do," Lucille's voice dripped in recrimination. 

"Well?" he ground out, lacking patience to assuage her feelings.

"She has tendered her resignation, effective immediately. I have the letter should you wish to peruse it."

"Did she say why?" he asked running a hand through his already mussed hair. Of all the times for her to leave, this was worst. He would not have thought she would do such a thing. She seemed to like Rose, and had always been kind, if shy, towards him. Why desert them in their hour of need?

"Well, yes she did give reason, though you will not like it," Lucille said. "It seems she was rather scandalized by your behavior, Thomas, and who could blame her? It's bad enough that you insisted on barging into the bedroom of a woman to whom you bear no relation, but did you really need to mark the whor-the _girl_ so savagely? The poor maid was all but traumatized, and who can blame her?"

Thomas felt his face flush at the revelation. Good god, of course! Mary and Gwen had bathed Rose that morning. There would not have been time for the love marks he had thrilled to see darkening her fair skin to fade. His poor love, how he had shamed her! Just one more thing for him to atone for from his lifetime of sin. He only prayed he would be given the opportunity to make it up to Rose.

"As for Rose," Lucille continued, recapturing his interest, "Thomas, you must prepare yourself."

"What do you mean?" he asked sharply.

"I loath to say it, but the dear girl is raving."

"Raving?" his eyes widened as his stomach clenched in fear.

"It is the only word for it. All I can think is that it is a result of some fever dream, but her mind seems to be leaving her. She is hurling all kinds of wild accusations against any and all of us. Why, she thinks we are conspiring to murder her, the poor thing."

"Murder her?" he echoed in shock.

"Yes. Poison I believe. In the tea. Or was it the porridge? I could not keep her rantings straight. She seems to think there is a plot against her. You, Mary Jennings, even silly little Gwen are all caught up in it, though I am the chief villain of the piece. She blistered my ears just now, screaming for me to leave the room. I finally acquiesced, lest she do herself harm."

"Good God," he leaned against the wall, head falling into his hand. "My poor little love."

"I am afraid for her, Thomas," Lucille's hand came to rest on his shoulder gently. "I do not think such strong passions as she was exhibiting will be endurable in one so stricken as she has been."

It was his fault, he thought, despair rising within him. All his fault. He had pushed her too hard, too fast. Bared her in the attic despite the cold and the wind. Used her shamelessly to feed his lust for her. And all of that on top of how recently she had been through the horror of a carriage accident that left her with an injured temple. He was a brute and a beast, and now his darling was paying the price.

"I must see her at once," he declared, turning to mount the stairs two at a time.

"Thomas, stop!" Lucille called, unheeded, behind him. "You cannot mean to visit a sickroom in such a state!"

"To hell with my state!" he swore, and burst his way into Rose's room.

"Thomas!" Rose cried, turning from where she stood next her bed to hurl herself into his arms. "Oh, thank god you have come!"

"Rose, my darling, whatever is the matter?" he asked, taking her into a fast embrace.

For a moment he could think of nothing but how right it felt to have her in his arms again, her body pressed to his, head buried in the hollow under his chin. As his mind returned, however, he began to take in the room. Her valise had been set on the bed, and she looked to be in the process of hastily throwing all of her belongings inside of it. Her heartbeat, so easy to feel where it raced against him, was speeding at an alarming rate, and her body trembled along his.

"Thomas, I must leave. At once."

"My love, what has happened?" he said, running a hand soothingly down her back as he peppered her head with kisses. "Rose, sweetheart, talk to me, please. What has put you in this state?"

"Thomas... I can't... you won't..." she sobbed out the words, muffled by the fabric of his cravat.

Gently, Thomas maneuvered them back to the armchair and sat down, pulling her with him onto his lap despite her weak protests. When he had her situated, he began tilted her face up to gaze into her eyes bright with tears. The look of lost panic he saw in their depths went straight to his soul. Whatever afflicted her, she was terrified.

"It is alright, my love," he tried to reassure you. "I have you, and I will keep you safe. Now please, I beg of you, talk to me."

"It was Lucille," she whispered tremulously. "She threatened me."

"Threatened you?" he repeated, brows drawing together. "In what manner?"

"She said... she said she was going to... to kill me. If I didn't agree to give you up and leave this place, she was going to poison me. As she did to Jane Almand before."

"Rose, Rose you must be mistaken. It was a dream, perhaps, a nightmare brought on by your illness."

"It was no dream!" she insisted, struggling again against him. "She told me that I would never... never have you. That if I didn't leave by tomorrow she would see to it that I died."

Thomas felt a cold thrill down his spine at the words. It was as Lucille had said, wasn't it? Rose was raving, imagining threats against her. And yet, if Rose was merely ill, then why did he feel a sliver of fear slide through him? She was unwell, that was plain to be seen, but was that all that was going on? He had known her for such a short time, after all. 

_But you have known Lucille all your life_, a quiet voice spoke from within his mind. _Can you really say this would be beyond her? That you did not have your own doubts when Jane died?_

Ruthlessly Thomas squashed such thoughts. Lucille was his sister, his closest companion. She might be a bit unstable from time to time, but she would never do anything that would hurt him. More than anything else, she had told him from the time they were children, she desired his happiness.

"Darling, you have nothing to fear," he cooed to Rose, running his dirty hands through her shining hair. "I promise, I will keep you safe."

"You say that," she answered, a note of bitterness in her voice, "but how can I believe you? After all, if you would abet in the murder of your own mother..."

"What?" he asked, hand stilling then gripping hard in her curls. "What did you say?"

"Ow! Thomas, you're hurting me!"

Thomas blinked uncomprehendingly for a moment, then cursed and released his hold on her hair.

"Rose, forgive me," he begged, staring probingly into her face. "Repeat what you just said."

"Lucille told me," she hissed at him, face angry with reproach. "She told me how she killed your mother, how you aided her to cover it up. Is that what you would do with me as well? Wash away the traces of her guilt after she has disposed of her rival?"

Thomas sat perfectly still, overcome by an unspeakable horror. In his mind he could see their mother, laid out in a bath made red with her blood, a ghastly slash cleaving her body. He could hear the water as it ran out over the sides of the tub, pooling on the tiled floor of the room, smell the metal scent in the air. And clear as a bell he could hear Lucille's voice, calm and happy as he had rarely heard it before that moment, gleefully crowing at her work. 

Rose could not know, would have no earthly way of knowing, about that day. There were only a handful of people in the world who knew the way he had stood, shaken to his foundation, in that fall of bloodstained water, unable to take his eyes off the woman who had given him life and then spent years making it into a hell. She would not know how he had turned of the water, mechanically reaching in to lift the drain stop and let the liquid in the tub run down. She would be blissfully ignorant of how it had taken both of them to lift her, dead weight made shatteringly literal, and carry her in stages down to the cellar, where they had buried her in a vat of their liquid clay. Silent tears had fallen down his face the entire time, but Lucille had laughed, remarking how much Mother would have hated the mess they were leaving on the floors.

He had spent much of the next week scouring those floors, in an attempt to remove the evidence of their crime. He had done a good enough job that when the authorities were finally called they could not prove anything. It had spared them, his thoroughness. He had been shipped off to school, an unlooked for gift in his darkest days. Lucille had not fared so well. She had screamed for him, wild and violent, as they had taken her bodily out of the house and bundled her into a carriage bound for the "sanctuary" where she would spend the next five years. She had only ever wanted them to be together, to be safe.

There was no way the woman he now held on his lap could know any of that. He had certainly never spoken of it. He tried his best to never even think of it. Only one other knew of his secret sin.

"Rose, Rose listen to me," he said urgently, lowering his voice as his eyes darted towards the door. "I believe you Rose. I believe you, and I will keep you safe."

"You do?" she asked, eyes round as she looked at him with a desperate hope.

"I do. My poor darling, I am so sorry. So profoundly sorry that you have been made to endure this. I swear on all I hold dear that no harm will come to you, but you must do as I say. Can you do that, Rose?"

"What would you have me do?" she asked warily.

"Stay here, in this room," he commanded, much to her obvious distress. "It is just for this moment, I promise you! I will get us away, away to where no one can touch you. I need only a brief time to make preparation."

"She said by tomorrow," Rose hiccuped. 

"It will not be that long. Let me give a few quiet orders. The carriage must be made ready, and we must have food for the journey. I will ask Gwen... Damnation!"

"What is it?" 

"Gwen. Lucille said she had tendered her resignation but now... if what you say is true... and yes! I do believe you, love..."

"Thomas, you don't think she would have -"

"I would not have thought it," he confessed, "but I am no longer certain."

"We can not leave her to your sister's mercy," Rose said with steely determination.

Thomas looked at her, so small and yet so fierce, and felt the love within him threaten to overcome him. Her own life in very real peril, and yet she was still worried about another she barely knew. He did not deserve her, he knew. He would spend the rest of his days struggling to be a man worthy of her.

"We will not," he assured her. "I will find out what has become of her, and we will take her with us when we go."

Rose smiled up at him, and then in a moment of sheer release threw her arms around his neck and kissed him breathless. Despite everything, the danger, the despair, he felt his body responding to her. He knew this was not the time, but he could not resist surrendering to the kiss and the shared passion within it.

When at last they tared themselves apart, he lifted Rose in his arms and carried her back to the bed.

"You must try to rest, my love," he told her, setting her gently down. "You will need all of your strength. I will send Mrs. Jennings in to you - I assume she may be trusted?"

"Mary may scheme to keep us apart, but she would never hurt me or anyone else. She is prickly, not evil."

Thomas shied away from the implied description of Lucille in her words. He could not allow himself to linger on what his sister's actions said of her, nor on what his blindness to her nature said of him. He could only think of Rose, and getting her to safety.

"I will send her to you," he repeated. "Eat or drink nothing, no matter how they insist. When the house is dark and all have retired to bed, I will spirit you away."

"Where?" she asked, voice trying valiantly to hide her fright.

"Let me worry about that," he said, wondering himself where he could take her. "I will find us a refuge. And if you will still have me, I will see we are safely wed."

"Thomas," she smiled weakly, raising her head for another kiss. "I am sorry I doubted you."

"I am sorry I gave you reason. Now rest. The night will come quickly my love."

"Be safe," she said softly, "my love."

The words, offered as they were by her sweet voice, made his heart soar. He would be worthy of them, he vowed to himself. He would save her, and hope that in doing so he managed to save the remaining part of himself.


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose is not one to sit and wait for her hero to save her. Will she be able to act, and if so to what end?

The anxiety of waiting was unbearable. Thomas had been as good as his word and sent Mary in to keep her company, but that was almost worse. With her chaperone sitting in the straight back chair (heaven forbid she avail herself of the comfort of the armchair) Rose could not pace about the room as she wished to. She knew logically this was for the good, she should not be wasting her strength needlessly, but the restlessness she felt threatened to overwhelm her.

"What is wrong with you, girl?" Mary asked at last with a aggrieved sigh. "You are more fidgety than a schoolroom miss at her first formal dinner party."

"It is nothing," Rose lied, playing with the unraveling hem of the blanket. 

"I have known you too long to believe that," Mary said in her clipped tones. "Now, tell me what is bothering you and we shall see what we can do to fix it."

Rose eyed Mary warily. She wanted to trust in her, truly she did. In the past few years they had gotten to know one another well, or as well as a woman like Mary would ever let anyone know her. She was prickly and straight laced, with morals so starchy that they would more likely break than bend, but Rose knew that she cared about her in her way. It was part of the reason why she kept Rose under such careful supervision.

"There is nothing you can do to fix it," Rose told her glumly. 

"Then who can fix it? Sir Thomas I suppose?"

"You don't like him," Rose accused her petulantly. "You have made that abundantly clear."

"I do not dislike Sir Thomas," Mary sighed, setting down her never ending embroidery. "Indeed, I think it would be hard for anyone to dislike him. Especially a lady. I am not so old, after all, that I do not remember what a handsome face and a gentle voice like velvety wine could do to one's senses."

"But you do not think that I should marry him."

"No, I do not."

"Of course not. Because it would be detrimental to you. Forced to live here in isolation, or to find another girl off of whom to live like a parasite."

"Rose I am surprised at you!" Mary's voice bit into her, not the least because of how ungracious she knew she was being. "Both for your dismissal of my affection for you, and for the vulgarity of listening to private conversations. You were listening, were you not? When Miss Sharpe and I discussed your... relationship with Sir Thomas?"

"I was," Rose suddenly felt like an ill behaved child. It was not a pleasant feeling.

"Rose, there is something to what was said in that conversation. I am dependent on you and your family for my livelihood, and I would prefer my golden years not be spent here, where at any moment one expects to come face to face with the creatures of a nightmare. Surely that is not a crime?"

"No," Rose was feeling more at fault by the moment.

"Thank you for granting me that. However, as reasonable as my concerns for my own comfort might be, I would set them aside if I thought that you would be happy in this marriage."

"But you said you liked -"

"I said I liked Sir Thomas," Mary cut her off. "And I do. But think, Rose. He is not the only other person to reside in this monstrosity of a mansion. Do you really think you could spend your life with Sir Thomas, knowing that his sister would be always underfoot? How long do you think such an arrangement would last? I like not to think of you in such a situation."

"Then you think Lucille..." Rose bit her lower lip as she trailed off, unable to speak the truth.

"I think the farther away from Miss Sharpe you, or any lady her brother fancies, the better," Mary advised her.

"Mary, you are right!" Rose blurted, unable to keep her tongue any longer. "Lucille is a monster, a villain, and I must escape from here!"

"Thank the lord!" Mary breathed, springing to her feet. "As soon as you are well, my girl, we shall depart and make our way to your family in the North."

"No, you misunderstand me! I need to go now, tonight! Thomas is seeing to all of the arrangements, but there is too much to be done for him alone!"

"What are you saying Rose? You cannot leave now! You have been unwell. And to travel at night is to risk danger. Besides, you just agreed that you were well rid of the Sharpes!"

"Of Lucille yes," Rose clarified. "But not of Thomas. Never of Thomas. I love him, Mary, and I mean to marry him."

"Love him? You have known him less than a week!"

"I have spoken with him longer and know him far better than many of the men you would have had me marry in London! He is kind and intelligent and, yes, handsome. That matters less the more I know him though. It is the beauty of his soul that draws me."

"Rose, you must still be feverish," Mary pressed her hand to Rose's forehead.

"Mary, stop! You do not know all that has happened. Lucille was here, earlier, while you were resting and Thomas outside. She threatened me, Mary. I believe she has been poisoning me. It would not be the first time she has killed either."

"And you told Sir Thomas this?"

"I did, and what's more, he believed me. He is getting me away, where she can not hurt me."

"You are crazy, the both of you! If she is a danger, we should call the authorities."

"But there is no proof! Only her words spoken to me in private, while I was recovering from fever. What court would ever believe me? No, the only hope is to get away, now."

Climbing out of the bed, Rose retrieved her bag from where she had hidden it under the bed and recommenced packing her few remaining belongings before starting to change into her travel clothes.

"Rose, this is madness," Mary tried again.

"Is it madness?" Rose demanded, pulling her hair back haphazardly from her face. "Is it?"

"Where would you even go?" Mary attempted a different tact.

"I don't know," Rose paused a moment to think, then shook her head dismissively. "To my family, I suppose. Or perhaps to Gretna Green. Thomas will decide."

"Gretna Green!" the alarm in Mary's voice was almost comical, all things considered. "You cannot mean to elope?"

"Of course we do," Rose told her calmly. "Thomas has arranged for a special license. It should be in his possession by now. By this time tomorrow I will be Lady Rose Sharpe. You might wish me happy."

"Rose, of all the addlepated... an elopement! And with not a witness but whatever drunken Scottish clergyman you find to preform the service!"

"We will have a witness," Rose told her triumphantly. "Gwen is coming with us."

"Oh, a serving maid, very good," Mary rolled her eyes to the heavens. "In any case, I thought the girl had given her notice?"

"So Lucille told Thomas, but I wonder," Rose paused her preparations to ponder the idea. "Gwen was the one who first brought the danger to my attention. It seems strange that she would leave so suddenly."

"I would not put it past Miss Sharpe to fire her," Mary shrugged. "The point is she is not here to go with you."

"No, the point Mary is that she might have come to some harm. Thomas was going to see if he could locate her, but between preparing the carriage and all the rest that needs seeing to, I don't see how he will have time."

"What, is the knight errant suddenly incapable of tackling every impossible feat?" Mary asked sarcastically. "How the mighty have fallen."

"I am not a child, Mary," Rose glared at her. "I know that Thomas, for all that I love him, is but a man. He cannot singlehandedly move mountains. He requires assistance, as do all mortal creatures."

"Rose, I do not like where this is headed!"

"I am going to pieces just lying here waiting," Rose said. "You know I have never been one for idle uselessness."

"You are not being useless," Mary argued, subtly moving herself between Rose and the door. "You are resting. Healing. Your body has been through a great ordeal. You should go back to sleep and forget this mad scheme."

"If I go back to sleep in this house, Mary, I fear I shall never awaken again. No, I need to take action. Have you seen Lucille this afternoon? Before you came to me I mean?"

"Yes, she was down in the parlor playing the piano. If you listen you can just hear her."

Rose strained her ears. Floating up the stairs and through the door she could just make out the slow song, ominous to her ears, that was coming from the lower level.

"That is good," she thought, chewing on her lower lip. "That should keep her occupied enough for me to slip by in the hall."

"Slip by to where?"

"I have been thinking on it," Rose said, slipping into her shoes. "Where would one hold a person they wished out of the way? Assuming, of course that she has not just put an end to poor sweet Gwen."

"Heaven forfend!" Mary crossed herself.

"Indeed. But we are speaking of someone not quite right in the mind. Now, obviously it would need to be somewhere Sir Thomas would not visit during the normal course of the day. Her own rooms spring to mind for that, much to her own disappointment, I am sure, but she would not risk holding Gwen there. She would have to put her somewhere she could maintain reasonable deniability."

"Your mind follows this line of thinking far to easily for my comfort," Mary noted, becoming drawn in despite herself. 

"Product of a misspent youth," Rose smiled. "The servants quarters, perhaps? No, that would be the first place Gwen would be looked for. And the attic is Thomas' space... I have it!"

"You do?"

"Yes, it is obvious when one thinks on it. It must be the basement. I was warned from the first not to trespass into the lower levels. It is where they keep the vats of liquid clay, you see, and from what Thomas implied the floors are not completely safe. The entire house is settling into the unstable ground."

"An apt metaphor if I ever heard one."

"And a perfect place to hide a body - alive or otherwise."

"Rose Dewlawn, you are NOT going down into that basement! I absolutely forbid it!" Mary drew herself up to her full height, hands determinedly resting on her meager hips.

"Well, then you will have to go with me," she shrugged, maneuvering skillfully around the slender woman. "For come what may, I will not allow Gwen to be left in danger for the crime of attempting to help me."

"I should have gone to surrey and played nursemaid to my dying uncle," Mary sighed under her breath. "At least put on your pelisse, and let me fetch mine. It will be cold as a grave down there!"

"Darling Mary, I knew you would not stand for foul play!" Rose hugged her companion, secretly relieved as she did not think her own strength would be enough to carry Gwen if it came to that.

"You will be the death of both of us, but I will not let you die alone. I hope Sir Thomas is worth the danger you are putting yourself, and me, into Rose."

As Mary left the room to get her wrap, Rose shrugged into her own pelisse. She still did not relish going down into the dank underground level with its red vats of ooze, but she felt a bit braver not having to go alone. Now that she was up and moving she could feel a renewed sense of strength, though she was practical enough to know that it was most likely mere adrenaline from fear and excitement. Still, after days abed it was wonderful to be doing something again, even if the something chilled her to the marrow of her bones. 

Gwen would be alive, she told herself, tiptoeing into the hall to meet Mary. Surely Lucille wouldn't risk another victim? After all, Gwen had family in the village nearby. At worst she would need to think of a clever way to kill her so that she could emerge blameless from the act. Lucille's madness was like that, Rose realized. It was cold and calculated for all it was driven by lust and other misguided emotion. It made her that much more dangerous a foe. The sooner they had found Gwen and escaped from Lucille's clutches the better. Perhaps they should even take Mary as well, lest she fall prey to the woman's fury when they were discovered missing. Not that having her duenna along on an elopement was quite the romantic escapade that Rose had been envisioning, she thought with a giggle. Still, there was time enough for that - a lifetime's worth, should their plan succeed. And for all her meddlesome ways, she loved Mary.

"Alright," the woman in question said, emerging from her room with a candle. "Let us get this foolishness over with."

Rose smiled and walked carefully towards the stairs, trying to hide how her body trembled from just the exertion of a few simple steps. An appropriately funerial song scored their way as they made it down the staircase and into the kitchen in good time, managing to only step on one overly load floor board on their way. Rose realized she was holding her breath as they came to the door to the cellar and let it out silently as Mary unshot the bolt. Wincing as the door creaked on its hinges, Rose stared down the dark passage into the black below.

"I suppose three deaths from falls down the stairs would be too many, even for the simpletons of this place," a cold voice spoke from behind them. "A pity. I will have to think of something else to do with the two of you."

It was then that she realized that the piano music had stopped. Turning, she saw Lucille in her bright red gown standing behind them, frighteningly large knife in her hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you are all hanging in there in these crazy times. I am trying to get back in the rhythm of writing, but it is coming in fits and starts.
> 
> In any event, hope you like the chapter. Rose is frustratingly headstrong, but I couldn't just leave her to let Thomas do everything. Hopefully they will find a way out alive! Love hearing your thoughts and feelings! xxox


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas searches the Manor for Rose and finds someone unexpected instead.

Thomas felt rather triumphantly exhilarated. The special license that he had pulled every string he possessed was securely in his inside pocket, along with his one remaining small pistol that he dearly hoped not to need on the road. The horses were being readied discreetly by Haynes, and he had even managed to clandestinely pack a basket of fruit, bread, cheese, and his best claret for the journey. He had yet to locate Gwen, which was a bit disconcerting, but he still had a space of time before dark would be upon them. He thought he would reward himself by popping in to Rose's room to bid her a quick hello and apprise her of his progress. Surely such maneuvering deserved a reward, such as perhaps a kiss from his lady fair?

Suppressing an eager, boyish smile at his turn of phrase, Thomas bounded up the stairs towards Rose's chamber. He would have to be discreet, of course. Mrs. Jennings would be in the room with her, and it would not do to give their plan away. He could think of few things less romantic than having the straight laced harridan along on their elopement. It would be bad enough to have the maid!

Since leaving Rose to rest, the fear that he had felt in that stuffy, claustrophobic room had abated. Surely they were both just overreacting due to the stress of her illness and the height of their feelings for each other. Lucille was envious, yes, and he knew she could be spiteful when vexed. He even went so far to admit, much to his discomfort, that she in all likelihood did harbor more of an attachment to him than was healthy in a sibling. Still, it was quite the leap from that to murder! Yes, that small voice in his head whispered, there had been the incident with mother, but that was different. Lady Sharpe had been a tyrant, abusive both mentally and physically to her children. It was no wonder that her daughter had been pushed to a moment of madness when trapped day and night with a parent who made life a living hell. How easy must it have been for Lucille to see her choices narrowed down to their mother's life or their own?

Rose, on the other hand, would never be a danger to anyone. She was delicate, first of all, standing almost a head shorter than Lucille and fitting neatly under Thomas' chin. Add to that her sweet disposition and she could not be farther from their nightmare parent.

No, Thomas could not believe Lucille would take such drastic measures, and he had begun to see their trip more in the way of an adventure. If it was an escape, he was escaping simply from the smothering environment of Alerdale Hall and all that it had come to represent over his life. He was exchanging its dour walls and crumbling dramatic grandeur for the fresh breeziness and light that Rose had brought into his world. Who in their right minds would not make such an exchange? Especially when it came packaged in the most desirable woman he had ever clapped eyes on.

It was in this frame of mind that he rapped jauntily on her bedroom door, announcing his presence with a smile in his voice. When no answer greeted him his sunny expressing knitted a bit, but then it occurred to him; she must be sleeping. Leave it to his sensible girl to rest up before their adventure! Thomas knocked softly again, and opened the door just a crack, wanting a quick look at his love without disturbing her. 

In the turn of events, it ended up being Thomas who was disturbed, as the room he peered into was free of any occupants. Throwing stealth to the wind, he shoved the door wide and burst into the room, staring at its emptiness. A bag lay open on the bed, most of the belongings Rose had brought with her, including the nightgown he had last seen her in, inside of it. Mary's infernal embroidery, never out of her hands for long, lay discarded on the straight backed chair like a forgotten toy. It was all enough to relodge the sense of dread back into Thomas' chest.

"Rose," he called out, turning on his heel and blindly going room to room in his search. "Rose, my darling, where are you?"

Now becoming truly concerned with the way his voice was echoing through the empty halls unheeded, Thomas began hastening his quest, looking in even the most unlikely of rooms for her. The servants' quarters, his attic workroom, the kitchen and parlor, all were starkly unoccupied. 

Among all the other thoughts racing through his head, Thomas could not avoid the knowledge that Lucille was always to be found at this time of the day. If she was not supervising the preparation of their evening meal, she would be toiling away at the piano, trying to find her joy in the only thing it seemed ever brought it to her. The fact that she was not to be seen in either place made the creeping unease all the greater.

Trying to get a grip on his mounting panic, Thomas made his way out the front door, not eve pausing to don his coat or gloves. The wind had picked up and loose snow was blowing about, clouding his vision. Raising a hand to shield his eyes, he stumbled forward, calling out for Rose, Lucille, Mary and Gwen by turns.

"Who's there?" demanded a voice far different from the feminine ones Thomas had expected. 

Spinning to his left, Thomas was able to see out a large, male shape lumbering towards him out of the snow. He could make out a gentleman, standing slightly shorter than his own height, but much broader in build. The stranger was dressed in a sturdy wool greatcoat that looked enviably warm, and a rather unfashionably short hat. From what Thomas could see he was older than the vitality he radiated would have him, and the whiskers covering his face were mostly white even before the snow. His eyes peered out from under rust colored, bushy eyebrows as he took in Thomas at a glance.

"You must be lost," Thomas said, silently cursing the delay. "Did you wander off the road in the snow? I am afraid you are far from the village."

"I came from the village," the stranger said. "I was looking for a grand Manor house. Alerdale Hall they call it.

"You have found it," Thomas replied, curious as to what could have brought the man out to the ends of beyond. "I am Sir Thomas Sharpe, the owner of Alerdale."

"I thought as much," the man said grimly.

Before he could respond, a meaty fist shot out and hit Thomas square in the jaw, knocking him backwards off his feet and into a pile of snow.

"What in the seven hells?" he demanded, bringing his hand to his smarting jaw as he checked to see if the older man had dislocated it. 

"On your feet, son," the gentleman said pugnaciously. "I am not done with you."

"Well I am done with you," Thomas answered, struggling to rise from his ungainly position. "I do not know who you are, nor what I could have done to provoke your ire, but I am hardly like to trade blows with one old enough to be my sire!"

"Heh, that so?" the man smiled at him belittlingly. "So says the man lying on his arse in the snow. I may be old, boy, but not too old for the likes of you!"

"No doubt that may be," Thomas conceded, spitting out a bit of blood. "But there is no honor in fighting with a grandfather."

"You're one to talk of honor," the man sneered. "And I am no grandfather yet, unless you've done more harm than I know of!"

"What are you talking about?" Thomas was finding it harder and harder to be polite. He was cold, wet, hurting, and desperate to find Rose. "Who the devil are you?"

"Haven't pieced it together yet then?" the man asked, shaking his head. "Mary had at least implied that you were intelligent, but then even the sharpest of women can be deceived by a pretty face, and you're about as pretty as they come. My name is Charles Dewlawn, and I would appreciate it if you would return my little girl to me this instant!"

Thomas suffered a wave a pain as his jaw dropped open. Good Lord in Heaven, this was Rose's father! Of all the things Thomas had considered that might go wrong this day, the arrival of his would-be father-in-law had never crossed his mind! And how his delicate little Rose could have come from such a mammoth was more than Thomas could say. The man was barrel chested and solid as stone, not to mention quite adept with his fists.

"Mr. Dewlawn, it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance," he lied. "We did not look to see you here. Please, won't you come inside?"

"I just bet you didn't at that," Dewlawn grumbled. "And no pleasure about it. Now show me to my daughter!"

If only he could, Thomas thought, turning to lead Rose's father back into his decaying home. He could not think of a worse situation in which to meet the man. The Hall was in complete disarray, their only maid had vanished, and now the man's daughter was missing as well. What must it all look like to a doting parent, already disposed to look uncharitably on Thomas' suit?

As Dewlawn divested himself of his had and stomped the snow from his boots, Thomas was able to get a better sense of the man. His clothes were very well made, but there was absolutely nothing flashy or stylish about them. Rather, like the man himself, the ensemble had a sturdy, capable look to it. And while his thinning hair was indeed frosted with grey, it still had a sheen of what must have been copper to it as well. All in all he painted an imposing picture as he glowered at the thinner, younger man.

"You must be frozen," Thomas remarked, trying to sound hospitable. "Come, warm yourself in the parlor and I will get you some tea."

"Does this look like a social call to you?" Dewlawn grunted, never the less making his way behind Thomas into the parlor. "I don't want your damn tea, I want Rose! Send her in to me at once."

"I am afraid that is not quite possible at the moment," Thomas tugged uncomfortably at his cravat.

"Oh? And why might that be?" the look that Charles gave him had surely driven many lesser men to cower in their boots.

"Rose - that is, Miss Dewlawn - has taken ill. Nothing serious, I assure you! Just a chill from her accident. She is resting in a guest room above."

"That so, is it?" Dewlawn didn't look convinced. "Very well, then I will talk to Mrs. Jennings. Never tell me that woman is a bed with chill. She's made of ice herself, and it would take a damn glacier to bring her down."

Thomas raced through his options, trying to think of a way to stall the man while he continued his search for the women. Alas, short of bashing him over the head with the fire poker, which he did not think Rose would approve of, he could not think of a blessed thing.

"Mr. Dewlawn," he began haltingly, letting the words come to him as they would, "before I... find Mrs. Jennings for you, there is something I would say to you."

"Go on," the voice belied the welcome in the words.

"I have, over the course of the past week, become acquainted with your daughter. I surmise, from what your comments have implied, that the estimable Mrs. Jennings has written to you of the attachment that has grown between Miss Dewlawn and myself."

"She may have mentioned something of the sort," Dewlawn's eyes narrowed threateningly.

"I suspected as much. Very well then, I will confirm as much. I am in love with your daughter, sir. I wrote to tell you the same day Mrs. Jennings sent her missive that it is my dearest wish to marry her."

"You wrote to tell me you loved her after what? Three days?"

"I did not use those words in the letter," he ground out from between his teeth. "I had not at that time even dared speak them to myself. But I believe it was the truth even then. I have never met anyone like Rose, and I will spend my life endeavoring to be worthy of her. I humbly ask you for your consent."

Considering the circumstances, Thomas thought he had handled that rather well. It was, after all, his first proposal. So it was more than a bit dampening when Charles Dewlawn threw back his head and barked out his laugher.

"Oh, I'm sure you will. So you love the gel. And I suppose my money has nothing to do with it?"

Thomas felt his face flush with a mixture of anger and embarrassment as Dewlawn looked expressively around the room. He had done his best, but he was anxious and not in the mood to put up with the other man's bullying any more.

"Yes, Mr. Dewlawn," he said in tight, clipped tones. "I am not a wealthy man. I have a title, but no fortune to support it. I am working, yes, _working_ to rectify that, but it may be years before I can give Rose the kind of life I desire for her. Perhaps that makes me selfish. If so, I will own to it. I am selfish when it comes to your daughter. I will accept nothing less than making her my wife. I mean to do so whether you grant us your blessing or not, and Rose agrees with me."

"Do you mean to say you've turned my little girl against me?"

"I would not use those words, but yes. Rose feels as I do."

"We'll see how you both feel when I take away financial support from her!"

"We have discussed this, sir," Thomas raised his chin proudly. "You can withdraw all of your support, it is your prerogative of course, but Rose is of age, we are in love, and will you nil you, I will marry her."

"Tread gently boy," Dewlawn growled, stepping closer to loom over him. "I am not a man to be trifled with! I come from good, country stock, not like your titled dandies."

"Mr. Dewlawn," Thomas said, driven beyond manners at last, "to be quite frank, you are the least of my worries at the moment."

"What's that? What do you mean?" Charles asked, furrowing his brow.

"I mean, that at this moment both Rose and Mary Jennings, along with my sister Lucille and our maid, have gone missing."

"WHAT???" Dewlawn bellowed, eyes bulging in his face. "What has happened to my Rose?"

"I don't know," he said honestly. "I have no idea where any of them have gotten off to, and I am desperately afraid that some ill fate might have befallen them."

"Then what are you doing standing here bandying words with an old man for?" Charles asked, shoving his hat back onto his head.

"I beg your pardon?" Thomas blinked at him.

"I thought you said you loved the gel? Well let's not just waste time! You know this place, where could they have gone?"

Thomas stared at the man for a moment longer as he waved his large hands hurryingly before giving himself a firm shake. Dewlawn was right. The niceties could be sorted later. Rose was missing, possibly in danger. Nothing else mattered.

"There is only one place I have yet to search," he said, squaring his shoulders. "They must be in the cellar. Follow me, and be on your guard. It is not a safe place to go unheedful."

"Lead on, Sharpe," Charles grunted. "And don't worry, I can still kill you after, when we have the women safe."

"I shall look forward to it, if only the objective can be obtained," he said, meaning it, and set off towards the door to the cellar.


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille has Rose and Mary in her clutches. What will she do with them now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for taking a bit longer between posts - the hubs and I have been sharing one computer for the last two weeks, and that makes finding time to write more difficult. Fortunately the new pc arrives on Tuesday, so I should be back to posting once a week!
> 
> Love you all, and thanks for any feed back!!! Feel free to also find me on Tumblr and say hello! https://www.tumblr.com/dashboard/blog/villainousshakespeare

Rose was extraordinarily thankful that Mary had insisted she wear her pelisse over her dress when they left her room. It was, perhaps, a small consideration in the grand scheme of things, but considering their present circumstances she was willing to count all the meager blessings she could think of. It was_ cold _ in the cellar of Alerdale Hall, and the last thing she needed so precipitously out of her sick bed was to worsen her chill.

Unfortunately, the existence of a thin wrap around her shoulders was about the only thing she had to be grateful for at the moment. It was hard to see any other bright sides to being held at knife point by a wild eyed sociopath who wanted few things more than to see her dead. The fact that ending her life was, indeed, the motivating force behind Lucille's madness was evident as the woman gleefully pressed the sharp blade into the flesh of her neck.

It had been only too easy for Lucille to gain control over Rose and Mary. Between Mary's still gimpy ankle from the carriage accident and Rose's weakness from spending the last few days abed, Lucille had needed only to lunge forward and with her longer reach grab Rose by the arm and spin her around before they found the blade locked against her windpipe. Mary, terrified for her young charge's life, had docilly laid down her cane and followed Lucille's instructions to proceed them down into the cellar.

The subterranean level was dim, with only a few quickly lit, dull torches casting flickering shadows over the walls. The ground was an unsteady marsh of red clay seeping up between rickety planks of wood that formed paths between huge vats for the bloodlike substance that was the hope and the curse of the Sharpe family. Without her cane, Mary stumbled as one drunk down the center aisle between the vats, until she came at last to the end of the room. There, trussed like a hog for slaughter, was the unconscious form of Gwen.

"What did you do to her?" Rose demanded, alarmed at the limp body of the maid.

"Less than she deserved," Lucille answered, venom in her voice. "There was a time when a disloyal servant would have been hung or beheaded. A shame we have gone soft these days. She'll live. For now. I would be more concerned about yourself if I were you."

"You're a monster!" Rose seethed, and screamed as the knife bit into her neck.

"Quiet, you!" Lucille ordered. "I have had enough of your insipidness. I may be a monster, as you say, but if so I was made into one. I will not bear the cross for sins that were forced upon me by the world I was born into."

"You were forced into kidnapping?" Mary scoffed, glaring at Lucille. "Into murder?"

"I said silence!" Lucille shouted, eyes flashing. "This is all your fault, you old hag. None of this would have happened if you had stuck to our plan as you promised!"

"I said I would help you to keep Rose and Thomas from continuing their affair, and remove her when it was clear there would be no issue from their coupling. I never agreed to violence!"

"And you did oh so well at that!" Lucille mocked. "You couldn't even manage a spinster's job and keep him out of her room! Thomas spent nearly every moment at the little baggage's side while she used her illness to manipulate his kindness and entrap him further!" 

"It was your fault I was ill in the first place!" Rose accused her.

"A slight miscalculation, I admit," Lucille shrugged. "I thought if I rendered you unable to spread your legs for him he would grow bored sooner. I hadn't realized what a clever little whore you really were."

"So what now?" Rose demanded, trying to stall from what seemed like the inevitable moment that Lucille slashed her throat. "You kill us all? Do you really think that you would get away with that?"

"Who would stop me?"

"Thomas, for one! He would never forgive you!" Rose insisted.

Lucille threw back her head and laughed, a crazy, maniacal sound that echoed in the dank space.

"Do you really think so? He forgave me for killing his own mother, you stupid cow. Do you really think he won't get over this as well?"

"Even if that were true," Mary said, as Rose felt her face flush with anger. "We are not insignificant people in the wider world. Miss Dewlawn is an heiress. Her father is an important man, well known in all the major metropolises of England. Rose and myself, are also prominent members of the _ beau monde. _ We will be missed, and by the type of people who make it their business to bring criminals such as yourself to justice."

"Perhaps that would be true," Lucille shrugged, "if anyone knew you were here. But why, I ask you, would anyone think to look in so remote a spot? They will discover your carriage, of course, all in shambles, but far from here. My man Haynes will see to that. No one need know of your extended stay under this roof."

"My father knows," Rose said. "Thomas wrote to him, asking for my hand."

"He did write," Lucille nodded. "Rather cloying, really. It made me ill to read the letter, that you had brought him so low. I took great satisfaction in feeding it to the flames."

"No!" gasped Rose.

"It is always a good idea to have at least one servant on whom you can rely. Haynes has been my creature for years now, and I make sure that he never forgets who owns his soul. It was easy enough for him to retrieve Thomas' missive to your father. Everyone knows he works for us, so he had only to say that the Master needed to amend his correspondence and _voila!_ The letter was handed over a neat as you like. I also have him to thank for letting me know of your little escape plan for tonight. He was practically in tears today when he came to me, informing me that Thomas had ordered the carriage prepared for a lengthy journey. Naturally I had him obey his Master. After I rewarded him for loyalty, of course. You are not the only one who can use her body to ensnare a man."

"You are repulsive," Mary gasped, as the lewd smile on Lucille's lips left little doubt to how she had gone about securing the groom's assistance all these years. "But you are also wrong. Thomas was not the only one to write to Mr. Dewlawn. I sent my own letter that morning, by our little maid here. I doubt you seduced her the same you did the groom."

"You interfering bitch!" Lucille spat, moving with alarming speed to backhand Mary across the face, sending her sprawling backwards against one of the vats.

"Mary!" shrieked Rose, terrified for her companion.

"I am alright," Mary groaned, pulling herself up to a sitting position as a red mark burned on her face. "You have lost, Miss Sharpe. Mr. Dewlawn knows that his daughter resides here, and knows that I suspect the Baronet of improper intentions and conduct towards his beloved daughter. If Rose is not returned to him, unharmed, he will descend upon you with all the avenging fury and wealth of the British patriarchy."

"I will kill you both!" Lucille's voice rose as her breathing accelerated. Rose could feel her heart racing where it pressed against her back.

"And when he arrives," Mary continued implacably, "with all of the might of Scotland Yard at his call, it will not be only you he takes vengeance on."

"What is that supposed to mean?" Lucille demanded.

"In my letter, it was Sir Thomas that I singled out as the threat. You may end up only sent off to rot in Bedlam, but I fear your beloved brother will not be so fortunate. Correct me if I am wrong, but the whole reason behind this insanity is the supposed welfare of Sir Thomas, is it not? And to make sure that he is not taken from your loving arms? How will you care for him, may I ask, when he is sent to dangle from the Hangman's noose?" 

"No!" Rose gasped, more desperate than ever that they escape. It would be the ultimate injustice if Thomas was made to suffer even more for Lucille's crimes.

"I will never let that happen!" Lucille spit. "I will protect him!"

"From all of England? And from within the padded walls of an asylum? I admit you are formidable, Miss Sharpe, but I think that is beyond even your ability."

"Shut you lying mouth!" Lucille screamed, and with a burst of energy shoved Rose down on top of Mary.

While the two women rightened themselves, their captor had taken the moment to secure two lengths of stout rope from a shelf beside them. Crouching down, she placed the knife squarely against Rose's side, just under her ribs, and handed her one of the ropes.

"Tie up your meddling companion," she instructed Rose tersely. "Hands behind her back, and ankles too."

"What are you going to do?" Rose asked as she made her frozen fingers work the rope around Mary's extremities.

She tried to make the bonds loose, but Lucille was on the lookout for such a ploy and the sharp end of the knife pierced her skin until she tightened the knot. When Mary was trussed to Lucille's satisfaction, it was Rose's turn to be bound. Lucille seemed to take pleasure in being rough with her rival, jerking her hands behind her back and coiling the rope so tight that Rose lost circulation in fingers. This care was repeated with her feet, until she was sitting immobile on the cold, damp ground next to her friend.

"I need to think," Lucille said, standing and glaring down at them. "Your interfering prune has, I admit, made things more difficult. But don't worry, I have always been resourceful. I will come up with just the thing."

Brushing her hands off on her heavy velvet skirt, Lucille smirked at them and started to turn towards the door.

"Wait!" Rose called. She had been desperate to be rid of Lucille just moments before, but as the woman prepared to leave them tied in the increasingly uncomfortable cellar Rose found she was edging closer to panic. "Where are you going?"

"Thomas will be looking for us," Lucille shrugged. "He is, as you will have noticed, a very attentive gentleman. I must go and inform him that you have left."

"He would never believe you!" Rose insisted.

"Won't he?" Lucille challenged. "After all, you were given little choice. Mary, your companion of many years, came into your room and made such a heartfelt plea, after all. She had only your happiness at heart, of course, and after a long, intense conversation, she managed to convince you that while you did, of course, fancy yourself in love with Sir Thomas, you were not ready to give up the life of luxury you had always lived. It would be better, you see, to break his heart now in one clean break than to grow inevitably resentful as he failed to meet your needs. Far better, don't you agree, to allow this time together to live on in your collective memories than to have it sour over time. How bittersweet for all involved. Why, even I am almost moved to tears."

"You are the devil!" Rose hissed at her.

"It broke my heart," Lucille continued as though she hadn't heard her, "but I had to admit that you were right. I instructed Hayes to quietly assist you to the village, that you might hire conveyance out of the area. Hayes, naturally, will confirm this."

"What exactly do you hope to achieve by this?" Mary asked, shooting Rose a withering look. "It still does not solve your problem."

"It will give me time," Lucille answered, smiling. "Time to decide how best to rid myself of you. You should be thanking me, I would think, for leaving you conscious. I would use the time to make your peace with whatever Lord you believe in. You will both be seeing him soon."

And with that, Lucille mounted the steps towards the door to the kitchen.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thomas confronts Lucille. Will he believe her lies about Rose?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warnings for this chapter: violence, talk of incest

It seemed as though Charles Dewlawn's arrival might just be a blessing in disguise. Certainly the old man was handy with his fists, as he had proven to the detriment of Thomas' jaw. Even now he could feel the swelling begin to one side of his face. Rose's determined father made a reassuringly fearsome presence at his back as Thomas took off towards the cellar door. His mind still shied away from the idea that his dear sister, unstable though she may be, might have done Rose and the others any permanent harm, but he could not deny the terror in his breast.

Just as the gentlemen entered the kitchen, Thomas pulled up short as Lucille herself entered the kitchen, pulling the cellar door closed behind her firmly and turning the lock. Her face as she beheld them was full of concern, worry etched in the lines of her porcelain skin.

"Thomas, thank god!" she exclaimed, racing forward to embrace him. "I am so worried!"

"Lucille!," he replied, hugging her tightly automatically before pulling back to scan the rest of the room with his eyes. "Where have you been?"

"Why, searching for you and the others," she answered, voice a pattern of concern. "I had been practicing in the parlor when I realized that I had not heard anyone for hours. I went up to check on Rose, of course, the poor thing, but imagine my surprise when I found her room empty!"

"Empty you say?" Charles repeated anxiously.

"Lucille, this is Mr. Charles Dewlawn, Rose's father. Mr. Dewlawn, my sister Lucille Sharpe."

Thomas blinked his eyes, trying to determine whether or not he had imagined the look of irritation that had flashed across his sister's face. He himself had felt no small amount of peevishness at Dewlawn's appearance, but surely the man's presence would be a positive for Lucille, who was not in favor of a lasting relationship between Thomas and Rose. Why then would he upset her?

"Ma'am," Dewlawn greeted Lucille far more politely than he had Thomas. "Your brother tells me my little girl is not to be found. Please, if you have any idea what might have happened to her, I would be in your debt."

"We were about to search the cellar for you all," Thomas added, looking pointedly towards where she blocked the door. "It is the one place I had yet to look. You know how dangerous it can be down there when the house decides to settle."

"I had the same thought," Lucille smiled sadly. "I just walked all through the lower level, calling out for them. I went so far as to go through the tunnel to the cavern entrance near the mines. I am afraid they were nowhere to be found."

"You say it's dangerous?" Charles asked.

"The ground is unreliable," Thomas explained. "The clay that we mine flows under the Hall as well. From time to time the weight of the house above causes things to shift below. Beams collapse, boards sink, in the area below the crumbling south wing we have even had the ceiling fall in."

"In that case, perhaps we should search again," Dewlawn opined. "Not that I doubt you, Miss Sharpe, but it's my daughter we're talking of. If there is a chance she is in danger, I need to look for myself."

"Mr. Dewlawn, I think you will find that there is a far more likely explanation for where your daughter and her companion are than that they are hiding in the cellar. You will agree, I am sure, that a dank basement is not the sort of place one would usually expect to find a gently bred young lady."

"Ah, but my Rose is no usual debutant," Dewlan said, eyes furrowing.

Thomas saw the irritation more clearly this time as Lucille's jaw twitched at his words. He knew his sister held no fondness for Rose, and one more person singing her praises would be sure to vex her.

"Be that as it may," Lucille continued, "Mrs. Jennings had injured her foot in the carriage accident that brought them to our door. Surely there is no way she would be down there with her cane!"

"And yet you thought to look there," Thomas said quietly, earning him a dagger glare from his sister.

"If Mary Jennings is injured, all the more reason to search!" Charles insisted.

Lucille sighed a great heave of a sigh and leaned back against the door.

"I had hoped to tell you this in privacy Thomas, to spare you, but I suppose the opportunity for that is lost," Lucille gave him a pitying look.

"Tell me what?" he demanded. "Lucille, if you know something about Rose's whereabouts, or those of Mrs. Jennings of poor Gwen, please you must tell us!"

"Gwen gave her notice and departed," she said sharply. "I told you that before."

"It seems, if you will forgive my saying so," said Dewlawn in a deceptively mild voice, "that quite a number of women have gone missing from here as of late. You will forgive me if I insist you share what you know, regardless of Sir. Thomas' delicate feelings."

"Very well," Lucille said, turning to Thomas with eyes full of sympathy. "It seems, my dear, that your Miss Dewlawn has had a change of heart."

"What? What do you mean?" Thomas demanded, as a fist seemed to clench around his heart.

"She, along with the inestimable Mrs. Jennings, have departed my dear."

"No," the one word came from deep within his chest as Thomas stood as still as if frozen, not even breathing in his shock.

"Why would Rose do such a hairbrained thing as that?" Dewlawn demanded, frustration rife in his voice. "This one says she was in love with him, and Mary all but confirmed as much in her damned letter."

"I like not to be indelicate," she sighed, "but in the end... well, I believe in the end the difference in their fortunes was just too much for her to face."

It was as if he was in a nightmare as the words were spoken. And yet, at the same time, how could it be otherwise? Rose was an heiress. A celebrated member of the _beau monde_. Beautiful, clever, and extravagantly wealthy, she surely could have any man in England she set her mind to. Why would she ever, when it came right down to it, have settled for an impoverished would-be industrialist with nothing to his name but a moldy title and crumbling mansion in the middle of nowhere? He was insane to have ever even considered the idea. Of course she was gone. She had never been meant to be his to begin with.

"Balderdash!" Charles Dewlawn said succinctly. 

"I beg your pardon?" Lucille recoiled.

"You heard me," Rose's father replied pugnaciously. "Anyone who has spent more than two minutes with my Rose knows that story don't hold water! Why, the girl could give two figs for money, and don't care who knows it. Trust me when I say I have wished it were otherwise, but can't say I am not proud of her all the same. Now, if you had told me that she was bored of your dandified brother, that I might believe. I can't see how you've managed to keep her interest as long as you have, to honest. Must be something more to you than looks I suppose. But even if she had seen the error of her ways, no Dewlawn would be so cowardly as to flee from an obligation. Your brother says she gave her word to wed him, well, that's what she'll do then. Either that or she'll have guts to look him in those gooey blue eyes and tell him why."

And just like that, the misery that had held him under like an anchor was detached from Thomas' ankle. Dewlawn was correct. Gloriously, brilliantly correct. Rose was brave and strong, not one to shy away from an uncomfortable truth. What's more than that, she loved him. He knew she did. The tie between their hearts was real and not something to be dismissed for so crude a reason as money.

"If you knew Rose had left me because of the money," he asked quietly, the words coming up reluctantly from within, "then why were you searching for her in the cellar?"

"Thomas," she said sharply, eyes flashing. "You misunderstood."

"If so, then I did as well," Charles said.

"Mary told me that Rose was leaning towards leaving," Lucille's voice had taken on just the barest hint of desperation. "When they were not upstairs, I hoped that they were just elsewhere in the house. And so I went looking for them."

"Why would you hope that? You were set against my marrying Rose from the start. Shouldn't you have been celebrating if you thought her gone?"

"I could never celebrate something that must give you pain," Lucille protested, hand gentling along Thomas' arm.

"Step away from the door, Lucille," Thomas commanded, voice firm.

"Thomas, I know you are upset she is gone, but it is all for the best," she soothed, not moving from she stood.

"I am not upset, for she is not gone."

"You are not thinking clearly, dearest."

"Well I am," Charles said, stepping forward. "You will let us down those stairs. Now."

"This is my home, Sir," she snapped, rage scarcely contained. "You do not give orders here, no matter how rich you may be."

"I believe it is, in fact, my home," Thomas corrected her. "And I would like to enter the cellar now, Lucille."

Lucille's eyes narrowed as she glared back at him, not moving. It was, perhaps, the first time in their lives that he had spoken to her in such a way. They had fought, naturally, as siblings were wont to do. But the cold, hardness that engulfed him was new and terrifying. That she could sense it too was clear from the pain written across her face. Somewhere, far from the determination he clung to, a piece of his heart broke for her, but he could not indulge such feelings now.

"No," she said.

"Alright missy, that's enough," Dewlawn huffed.

Pushing Thomas out of the way, Charles reached forward and grabbed Lucille by her left arm, pulling her towards him and away from the door. As she was wrenched from her position, however, Lucille's right hand dipped into her deep pocket and pulled something out. The light reflecting briefly from the dull metal was all the warning Thomas was given, but it was enough to send him crashing into the pair of them, shout ringing from his mouth.

They landed in a heap on the floor, all three tangled together. Charles was on the bottom, bearing the weight of the Sharpe siblings atop him. As Thomas dragged himself backwards, he saw the knife, handle still clutched in Lucille's hand, had been thrust into the old man's chest, just where it met his right shoulder. Grabbing his sister from behind, he hauled her backwards and to her feet, holding her as he stared down at the blood seeping through Dewlawn's layers of clothing.

"What have you done?" he rasped, appalled at the shocking violence before him.

"What needed doing," she answered, wresting herself from his grip. "He would have been the ruination of us, Thomas!"

"Lucille, give me the knife," he said, trying to make sense of what was happening.

"It is for your own good," she replied, slowly stalking back towards the bleeding man. "You'll see."

"You lying bitch," Dewlawn growled, blood escaping from his mouth with the words. "Where is she?"

"Don't worry," Lucille smirked. "You'll be seeing her soon."

Thomas, the implication of her words hitting him, lunged towards her and grabbed her wrist, twisting it in his firm grasp.

"You will not hurt him," he seethed, as she cried out. "Let the knife go!"

"I must!" Lucille cried, resisting him. "Don't you see that? It is too late for anything else. If I don't finish him, he will have me put away. Is that what you want, Thomas? To have me sent to an institution? Perhaps that has been your plan all along. Or was your intention something more permanent, so that you and your little Rose could dance on my grave?"

"Lucille, you know I wanted no such thing!" he insisted.

"You do! You tried to replace me with her! To give her the place that rightly belongs to me!"

"I tried to make her my wife! You would still be my beloved sister, Lucille."

"I am more than that! I want more than that!"

"The woman's mad!" Charles croaked.

"I will not let you hurt anyone else," he ground out, and bent her wrist far enough that she dropped the knife as she cried out in pain. "Dewlawn, are you alright?"

"A bit woozy," the man said, trying to stand and falling back again. "Too much blood loss. I don't think I'll make it down the stairs."

"Here," still keeping a firm hold on Lucille with one hand, Thomas clumsily undid his cravat with the other and handed it to Charles. "Bind it with this. I will go find them."

"Thomas, don't do this!" Lucille begged, face wild with despair.

"You will come with me, Lucille," he replied, grimly twisting her arm behind her back and propelling her forward. 

"Find my daughter, Sharpe," Charles said, "find her and bring her back to me."

"I will, Sir," he replied, opening the door and marching Lucille down the steps.

The torches were lit, which was yet another sign that all was not as it should be. Lucille would normally had extinguished them upon coming upstairs. With each step he took, Thomas felt dread well up inside him. Desperately he said a prayer that it was Rose he found and not her corpse at the end of his search.

"It is still not too late," Lucille whispered, body tense where he held it to his own. "I know you love me Thomas. You always have."

"That is correct," he said shortly. 

"All the way here, at the end of the world, what does it matter what anyone else thinks? We could be together, truly together, as we have always wished."

"That was your wish Lucille, not mine," he told her. "Your delusion."

"You knew," she hissed. "You knew and you encouraged me."

"Perhaps I did know," he sighed, wishing it were not true. "On some level I suppose I must have. But I never gave you false hope. I will not now. I am in love with Rose. She is the woman I want."

"I will kill her," Lucille spat.

"Quiet!" he snapped, shaking her.

"Thomas?" a voice called.

The fear that had been shrouding him lifted as Rose's clear, bell like voice rang through the dim hall. She was alive. Thank god above, Rose was alive.

"Darling, I am here!" he called back. "Where are you?"

"Back here, behind the final vat," she answered, voice sounding frantic. "Thomas, it's Lucille! She has us tied back here. Mary and Gwen as well as me. And there are rats! I can hear them scurrying just out of the light."

"I'm coming darling," he said, struggling to hasten as Lucille began fighting against him. "Stay strong, my love, I am almost with you."

"I will end you, you little baggage!" Lucille shouted.

Thomas heard Rose gasp in fear at the sound of his sister's voice.

"Don't worry, Rose. I have her secure. She will not touch you."

As they finally reached the end of the row of clay vats, Thomas let out a breath in relief to see his beloved, trussed on the floor with the other two women.

"I knew you would find me!" Rose beamed up at him, making him feel like a hero.

"A little less gazing and a bit more untying would not come amiss," Mary added wryly. 

"Of course," Thomas said at once.

Turning her to face him, he looked at Lucille with sodden disillusionment.

"You will stay put while I untie them," he instructed, his tone leaving no room for argument. "I do not wish to do you any harm, but I will not brook your interference. Do I make myself clear?"

"You have already done me harm," she accused, but when he didn't respond she nodded once.

Releasing his sister, Thomas knelt down and took Rose's face between his hands, flinching at how cold she felt to his touch.

"I feared I had lost you," he said softly, eyes welling. "My love, never leave me."

Rose shook her head and he gave in to the impulse to kiss her, hang the others. It was heaven, especially after the panic that had gnawed at him. She was alive and whole and his. A pointed noise from Mary brought him to his senses, and he pulled back with a sheepish grin on his face.

"Forgive me," he mumbled, feeling his face redden.

"Mary first," Rose instructed. 

"If you insist," he smiled at her selflessness.

"I can do with out the restorative properties of a kiss," Mary told him, a hint of a smile hovering about her mouth. "Untying the ropes will more than suffice."

"As you wish," he blushed, setting to work on her bonds. "Rose, watch my sister. If she move a finger, yell."

"With pleasure."

Thomas wished he had kept the knife to cut through the ropes. The cold made his fingers clumsy, and he hated to think of how long the ladies had been down in the damp chill. It seemed forever before he had at last freed Mary's hands from behind her back, rubbing them to return circulation, and an age before her ankles were free as well. As he helped the woman to her feet, he was at last able to turn back to Rose, who sat trying not to shiver on ground.

"Thank you for finding us," she said, eyes sparkling.

"Always," he answered, going to work on her wrists. "And believe me, the next time you are bound, I will make sure the experience is far more pleasurable for you."

He had spoken the final words softly, for Rose's ears alone. She looked puzzled at first, but then a slow blush spread up her fair skin and she bit down onto her lower lip as the meaning of what he said penetrated. As her eyes found his, he was delighted to find curiosity and a spark of heat in their depths, and incongruous as it seemed his own body leapt to respond. Damn the situation, but one look from this woman and he was afire to have her. Silently he reaffirmed his determination that, no matter her father's objections, they would be wed and soon!

"Forgive me, Sir," a rough voice said behind him. "But I'm afraid I'm goin to have to ask you to stop."

Turning around, Thomas gaped as he saw Haynes, his groom of all these years, standing a few feet away, gun pointed at Mary.


	26. Chapter 26

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Haynes has our heroes at gunpoint. How will they escape now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning - violence, character death

Thomas was there. He was kneeling before her, hands touching her as he worked to loosen her bonds. It was not, strictly speaking, the most romantic of moments that they had shared, but all the same her heart soared at the sight of her dashing fiancé. Only moments ago she had thought her life could be measured in minutes, hours at most, along with those of Mary and Gwen, assuming the maid woke at all. Now Thomas had arrived like the hero out of a novel to rescue them all and carry her off to the safety of his embrace. He even had time to whisper a naughty suggestion to her about the ropes now confining her wrists, and while she was not entirely sure what he alluded to, the hint he offered certainly got her imagination humming. Soon they would be off, and all of this unpleasantness with Lucille would be forgotton.

"Forgive me, Sir," a rough voice said, "but I'm afraid I'm goin to have to ask you to stop."

Rose's eyes, which had been glued to Thomas' dear face like a child staring at a Christmas pudding, leapt up to see the groom, Haynes she believed his name was, she had not had much to do with him, standing a few feet away from them. In his hands, held in a capable way that implied he knew all to well how to use it, was a pistol, point aimed at Mary's head.

"Haynes!" Thomas gasped, "what are you doing?"

"What does it look like?" the groom asked with a grim smile. "Now, step away from the young miss, Sir Thomas. I wouldn't want to have to hurt anyone."

Thomas gave Rose what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring squeeze of her wrists and then slowly stood, his large hands spread before him in a display of caution.

"You don't want to do this, Haynes," he said calmly, though Rose could hear the strain in his voice. "Put the gun down."

"You're right there, Sir," Haynes admitted glumly. "I don't particularly. But the Mistress needs me to, and I'll not be letting her down."

Rose felt for Thomas as his eyes shifted between the disheveled groom and his flawless sister. She thought of Lucille's words earlier regarding her illicit dealings with the groom and shivered inwardly. The man was at least twenty years older than Miss Sharpe, and missing a few teeth on top of that. Still, Rose would pick Haynes over Lucille any day of the week. At least the groom was acting out of a sense of misplaced loyalty, rather than deranged lust and spite.

"I know you think you're helping Miss Sharpe," Thomas assumed the soothing voice one would use on a wounded animal, "but the opposite is true. If you allow her to continue down this path, it cannot but end in tragedy for her and all the rest of us. I want to get her help, to see her made well, if possible."

"He means he wants to fit me for a straight jacket," Lucille cut in harshly. "Or perhaps a hangman's noose. Don't listen to him, Jack. You are my only friend. The only one who can help me."

"That's right, your ladyship," Haynes nodded with his heart in his eyes. "I will."

"I can't believe you would stoop so low," Thomas said to his sister, a world of recrimination in his look.

"I stoop no lower than you," she shot back with a poisonous glance at Rose. "Now, Thomas, you will kindly bring me that length of Rope so that I may bind you until the work is done."

"And leave you free to murder Rose and the others?" he demanded, shaking his head in denial.

"I am not going to kill anyone," she told him with a small smile of triumph.

"Ah, I see," Thomas closed his eyes while Rose looked at the two of them in confusion. 

As one who prided herself on being one of the quickest people in any given room, she was irritated at her lack of understanding. Of course, the wealth of complicated emotions tangled up between the Sharpe siblings was enough to stymie anyone not a part of their twisted family dynamic. The thought that she herself would soon be a Sharpe herself gave Rose a moment of trepidation. Only the firm figure of Thomas, coiled and ready to act, made the idea thinkable.

"Haynes, you're an idiot," her love said to the man holding the pistol.

"Careful boy," Mary hissed in caution. "I have no desire for another hole in my head!"

"She's using you, man, can't you see that?" he demanded, taking a cautious step towards his servant.

"Not another step, Sir," Haynes warned, turning the gun to point at his employer.

"It's not going to end the way you think it will," Thomas went on, slowly shifting his weight to his forefoot. "She'll have you do her killing for her, and then leave you to hang for it, you poor bastard."

"He lies! Don't listen to him!" Lucille shrieked, glaring at her brother.

"You've never understood her, Sir Sharpe," Haynes said scornfully. "You can't keep a beautiful, cultured lady like my mistress out here in the middle of nowhere. She should be out, in society, treated like a queen."

"She cannot go about in society," Thomas said. "Should she attempt to socialize on that level, the truth would be learned. People would look into her past, and they would not like what they discovered. The only way to keep her safe was to keep her here."

"You just wanted to keep her for yourself," Haynes accused, and Rose stifled cry as he pulled back the safety on the gun. "She's told me all about you and the vile, unchristian feeling you have for her. I'll not let you hurt her, in that or any other way!"

"That's not true!" Rose said indignantly. "Lucille is the one with the loathsome urges!"

"I don't have nothing against you miss," Haynes told her emotionlessly, "but I don't got nothing for you neither. I suggest you keep your lying mouth shut and not speak about things that don't concern you."

"But it does concern me!" Rose insisted. "Haynes, think. Thomas asked you to prepare the coach, that he might elope with me tonight. Does that sound like a man who has designs on his sister?"

"Silence, toad!" Lucille snapped.

"I did wonder about that," Haynes admitted, "but I suppose it was to be getting your money."

"This conversation has gone on long enough. The rope, Thomas, and your hands."

"I'm afraid he'll just have to shoot me," Thomas replied, opening his arms out wide.

"No! Thomas, don't. Mr. Haynes, please!" Rose begged.

"Shoot the old woman," Lucille insisted, and Rose screamed as the gun swung back to Mary.

"No!" Thomas shouted, making to lunge ahead.

Haynes, confronted with the choice of obeying his mistress or containing the young Sir didn't know what to do. Rose did not think the poor man had ever made a decision on his own his entire life. Certainly he was baffled by how to proceed given his current dilemma.

As the moment stretched out in taught silence, Rose heard a slight scuffling noise to her right. Glancing over while Haynes hemmed and hawed, Rose saw that Gwen had awoken and was quietly adjusting her position behind one of the other vats. Opening her eyes wide, the maid tilted her head towards the scene playing out in front of the, then opened her mouth and mimed screaming. Not quite certain what she was agreeing to, Rose nodded once and struggled to her knees.

"You will not kill any of us," she said in a loud voice, drawing all of their eyes to her. "Help! Someone help!"

Feeling like the most utter fool, Rose began screaming as though her life depended on it. Come to think on it, it quite possibly might. All eyes turned to her as continued her cries, Lucille's commands to be silent and Mary's earnest enquiries (surely the woman must think she taken leave of your senses) drowned out be the blood curdling noise she made.

Into all of this chaos, Gwen suddenly rose up like a phantom. Her hands hand been tied, but thanks to her unconscious state when she had been left down here, Lucille had not bothered with her legs. This gave the ingenious maid the opportunity to leap from behind the clay vat as all eyes were focused on Rose, and, screaming like a banshee herself as she hurled the item, clutched between her still bound hands, at Lucille.

A dreadful screeching noise filled the room, suddenly empty of your screams, as large, grey furred rat slapped into Lucille's chest. Its razor like claws sought for purchase and ended up clinging to the bodice of her dress as it bared its fangs and hissed at her. Lucille, understandably horrified, reeled backwards in an attempt to detach the crazed animal from her dress.

As all this went on, Haynes, forced to take action to defend his mistress, swung the barrel of his gun at Gwen and fired. Thomas, with the terribly quick defensive reflexes that came from a childhood under an abusive parent, saw the groom take aim and threw himself at Gwen, knocking the maid over as the shot rang through the air. 

"Thomas!" Rose cried out, as the sound of bullet hitting target echoed in the basement.

"I'm alright," he replied, voice sounding pained but alive. 

Frantic, Rose crawled over to where he lay on the ground, body covering poor Gwen, and rolled him over as best she could. To her absolute horror, she could see that a bullet had indeed hit him, lodging itself in his right bicep.

"Breast pocket," he whispered to her. "Hurry."

It was difficult with her wrists still tied, but Thomas had at least loosened the ropes enough to give her some mobility. Fumbling as she heard Haynes reloading, Rose felt the cold metal of Thomas' gun inside his coat pocket. Pulling it out, she looked at her love and saw him give a reassuring nod. 

"I love you," he told her quietly. 

"I love you," she answered, drawing strength from the words.

Turning around, she pointed the gun at Haynes, drew the safety back, and fired.

The shot went wide, hitting the wooden beam next to Haynes' head. Rose briefly closed her eyes to bemoan the fact that she had never learned to fire a gun. The shock of the near miss, however, had been enough to startle the groom into dropping his own weapon. As he lunged to retrieve it from the ground where it had fallen, Mary dropped to her knees as well, scrapping bravely with the man for the weapon. Lucille's screams had finally died down as she had rid herself of the vile rodent, and Rose saw the tall woman bearing down on her where she lay sprawled next to Thomas.

This is it, she thought in despair. This is how it will end, in chaos in a sinking, rat infested basement. If you had asked her just a day ago, she would have said she was in a fairy tale. Now, it seemed she had ventured into a nightmare. She had found true love, pledged herself to him, been about to steal away for wedded bliss, only find herself at the hands of a psychotic lady and her deluded paramour. It was almost too much to even encompass.

"That's enough of that!"

As the loud, authoritative voice rang out, Rose thought she must have slipped into madness. She was hallucinating, and had conjured up a voice from her childhood to keep her safe. How else to explain the booming tones of Charles Dewlawn reverberating through the dank confines of the Stark cellar?

"Mary, what the blazes are you doing on the ground like one of my prized greyhounds, stand up, woman!"

"Charles!" Mary exclaimed, sounding just as at sea as Rose felt. "Beware, there's a gun!"

"Aye, so there is," Rose's father growled, and leveled one of his antique firearms at the now still groom. "And I will shoot whoever gives me cause. Rose, lass, are you alright?"

"Father?" Rose asked shakily, not understanding what was happening, nor how her father came to be there.

"I'm here, girl. Nothing more will harm you. Sharpe, what are you doing lying about?"

"I fear I am shot, Sir," Thomas said, sounding deeply regretful.

"Well that was damned careless of you," Charles huffed.

"I am sorry sir," Thomas grimaced, hand aiding Rose who was trying to staunch the blood slowly seeping through his shirt sleeve. "Though I am forced to point out that you yourself were stabbed but moments ago."

"Father!" Rose gasped, torn between tending to her fiancé and running to her father's aid.

"I'm fine girl," Charles assured her. "Just a scratch. Your brother has given me worse in his time, the young scamp."

Rose thought of the accident involving her younger brother, her father, and a treefelling gone wrong and winced, thinking that hardly assuaged her fears. Still, Thomas seemed the more immediate problem, so she went back to trying to halt his breathing without the full use of her hands.

"So, this young ruffian tells me he is to be your husband, my Rose, and no words from me will stop him. Nor no withdrawl of my funds."

"Is this really the time to discuss this, sir?" Thomas asked, voice weaker than Rose liked as he tried to struggle his way to a more upright position.

"I'm a man of action, son, not one to let the grass grow under my feet as it were," Charles replied. "Well, Rose?"

"Yes," she said, seeing the question in Thomas' eyes and wanting to belay any fear he might have of her abandoning him in light of the trauma she had been through. "I love him, father, and I am going to marry him."

As Rose returned Thomas' ardent look, Lucille let out a blood curdling cray and, grabbing a crow bar from the bench near the wall where she had gotten the rope, lunged full strength at the younger woman.

She never made it. As a shot rang out for a third time in the dimly lit basement, all eyes turned to Mary who stood, cool as you please, with Haynes' discarded pistol in her hand. When Rose tore her eyes away from her companion and over to the body near her, it was to see Lucille on the ground, lifeless, a bullet through her chest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just one chapter left, my lovelies. Thank you so much for staying with me through this wild ride that started out as a 5(ish) chapter ficlet and grew into a saga! I love reading your comments and hearing your speculation.


	27. Chapter 27

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lucille is dead, what happens now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had originally thought that this would be the last chapter, but I realized that I need on or two more to wrap things up to my satisfaction. Hope you enjoy!!!

Rose was alive.

He was alive.

Lucille was dead.

He was numb. 

As Thomas sat on the sofa trying not to wince as Mary dug the bullet out of his arm with sterilized serving tongs and then sewed it up with needle and thread, his mind was blessedly blank. Rose sat on his other side, holding his hand tightly between her own two small ones and trying to keep still as he squeezed them in pain. She had done the same for her father a short time ago while the older woman had tended to his knife wound. Both men should most likely see a doctor, but he doubted either of them would. In Charles' case the old codger seemed like the type to ignore anything less than fatal. A slash with a kitchen knife would hardly slow him down.

As for Thomas, he deserved the pain that was being inflicted on him. If he developed an infection, he would most likely deserve that too. It was his fault that Rose had almost died, and in some ways his fault that Lucille was now a lifeless body still lying abandoned in the cellar below. They would have to sort out what to do with her, but he had not even begun to process that thought.

Mary, as with everything he had seen her do, was quick and competent, showing no squeamishness as she saw to his injury. He wondered if he should hate her. Did he owe that much to his sister? He wasn't sure. If Mary had not acted when she did, Lucille would be alive but Rose could well be the one to not make it out of the room alive. As much as he loved his sister, and he did still love her despite her madness, he could not wish for that. Lucille had lived a tragic life and was miserable in it. He could only hope that she was in a better place now, that she had finally found a modicum of peace that had eluded her in life.

"That should do," Mrs. Jennings said in a brittle voice that belied the steadiness of her hands. "Just go easy on it for the next few weeks and there should be no lasting ill effects beyond a scar."

"Of course," he said in an emotionless voice as Rose smiled a watery smile at him. 

He brought her hand to his lips and kissed the back of it, noting the raw red burns from the ropes on her wrists as he did. His poor angel, she had been through so much. He should be comforting her, not the other way round. He wished he could move his mind to do so, but it seemed to be packed in cotton and inaccessible to thought.

"Alright Rose," Mary went on in her practical way, "up you get. Stop mooning over Sir Thomas. You and I are frozen to the core. We need warm baths and a good soft bed. You too, Gwen. I don't want to hear any silly nonsense about your position. You helped us to escape, and we will take care of you now."

"She's right, ladies," he said quietly. "Please, let me know if you need anything. I, and the entire house, am completely at your disposal."

"You'll be alright?" Rose asked him.

"Of course, my love," he tried to sound more sure than he felt. "Go with Mrs. Jennings. You need to take care of yourself."

"Very well," Rose smiled again and allowed Mary to shepherd her, along with Gwen, up the stairs.

"They'll be fine," Dewlawn opined as they watched the women depart. "Strong spirits, all of them. Oh, Rose may look like the delicate flower her mother named her for, but she's got my hearty stock in her bones."

"I have noticed," Thomas was able to produce a faint smile as he thought of Rose and her gentle fierceness.

"I would think you must have," Charles laughed. "So, are you feeling up for a talk then?"

"A talk?" Thomas looked at him in confusion. "Now?"  
  


"If you can manage," Dewlaw shrugged. "tell me about this machine of yours."

Of all the things that the other man could have asked him, this was the last to have crossed Thomas' mind. He blinked a few times in surprise and tried to focus, wondering briefly how much blood he had lost that he was so light headed. Taking a deep breath, he began describing his labor of passion to Rose's father. The work he had put into the designs, the first time he had fashioned a doll sized mock-up of it to present to a potential investor, the parts he had been able to scrounge together by selling off the more expensive items of their inheritance (although he did leave that part out). Charles watched him with keen eyes that took in every word and weighed them with a businessman's mind. When at last Thomas reached the end and summarized the few refinements he felt necessary to complete his work and produce a working clay harvester, he had warmed to his topic and was talking with his characteristic enthusiasm for it.

When he finished, Dewlawn sat in silence for a few minutes, eyes searching Thomas' face as he chewed on his lower lip in a habit disconcertingly similar to his daughter's. At last, he nodded once crisply took a deep breath.

"So be it," he said leaning back in his armchair. "I will advance you the necessary funds."

"I beg your pardon?" Thomas gaped, thinking his mind must be playing tricks on him.

"Put together some numbers for me, enough to cover whatever you need to get up and running, including the labor, and I will have one of my men look it over. If they see nothing worrisome in your proposal, I will have them draft the paperwork and draw the money at once."

"Sir, I cannot begin to thank you for your generosity," Thomas stammered. "It is more than I could have hoped for."

"I should say," Charles chuckled in reply.

"As soon as the clay begins to be harvested, I will return your investment with interest," Thomas assured him. "The parts are all designed, they will just need to be cast. I should be able to have them to hand by the time Rose and I return from our wedding journey."

"There will be no wedding journey," Dewlawn said, in a voice a final as death.

"I beg your pardon?"

"Rose will be returning south with me," he told Thomas, eyes set. "This elopement you had planned to subject her to is at an end."

"Forgive me sir," Thomas said stonily, "but I am afraid I cannot accept that. I told you earlier that I love your daughter, and I meant it. You cannot buy me off with money, even though I might need it desperately. I need Rose more. You may keep your investment, thank you."

"Easy there, son," Charles sighed, closing his eyes briefly. "I did not mean it quite the way it sounded."

"Then pray, explain yourself," Thomas asked coldly.

"Rose is strong lass, as we have already established," her father began. "But even taking into account her strength, she has been through a great deal in the past week. A carriage accident, wandering lost in storm, spending the night unchaperoned in a gentleman's home (yes, I put that together - I am not senile yet), poison, kidnapping, attempted murder, and witnessing a violent death. You claim to love the girl, surely you should be able to see that this is enough to render anyone's mind off its best."

"Fair enough," he allowed, not liking where this was headed.

"I am not an ogre, Sir Thomas, nor am I an enemy to love. I want my girl to have everything her heart can desire. If that truly includes you... well, you might not have been my first choice, but it could be worse. At least you are not one of those useless society fribbles Mary was parading her before in London. What I propose is that you give her some time."

"How much time?" Thomas asked suspiciously.

"Three months," Charles answered. "I will bring her home with me, and you will make no effort to see each other for three months. This should allow you both to process what has happen here."

At the reminder of everything he had to deal with, Thomas felt his eyes take on a haunted look. He could sense the treacherous tears wanting to form behind his eyes and tried to steel himself to hold them back.

"It will be alright, son," Dewlawn told him softly. "The world need not know of your sister's actions."

"How can we stop it?" he asked bitterly. "She is lying in the cellar with a bullet in her brain."

"An accident while cleaning one of the pistols, I should think," Charles said after a moment of thought. "Poor think didn't know it was loaded. Everyone knows women are hopeless with firearms."

Considering it had been a woman who put the bullet between Lucille's eyes, they both knew this to be false. Still, it would be enough for most of the world. 

"I suppose that could answer," he said at last. "There will be suspicions, of course, but they will more likely be towards suicide than murder. Her unhappiness was no secret to those hereabouts."

"All to the good. I mean to offer the little maid a position in my home if she will take it. She showed real gumption with that rat, and loyalty my Rose. No offense, but her life would be much improved in my service. That leaves only the worthless groom of yours."

"Haynes is stupid, but not really evil," Thomas said, thinking of the man he had left locked in the stable. "He was devoted to my sister and would have done anything for her. With her gone, I think he will not know what to do with himself."

"If I may make a suggestion then," Charles offered, and Thomas nodded, as if he could stop him. "Let's send him to the Americas. I will buy him passage and stick him on a boat to the former colonies. He has nothing here you say, let him find a life for himself in the new world."

"Why are you doing all of this?" Thomas asked.

"It is Rose's reputation as well as yours," Charles answered seriously. "And I have seen that she does, indeed, care for you. I hope you are deserving of it, but that remains to be seen."

"Will you allow us to write each other?" Thomas asked, hating the pleading tone in his voice.

"I know what battles to pick," Charles laughed. I could lock Rose in her room day and night, and she would still find a way to write to you if she had a mind. You may write, but I meant what I said before - you are not to visit her. When three months have passed, you may come and offer your suit again. If at that point she accepts you, her mother and I will give her the wedding of her dreams. If, however, the horror of this day has come to change her mind, you will accept that and depart."

Thomas closed his eyes and thought over Dewlawn's proposition. As much as it pained him to concede it, the man did have a point. Rose had been through enough for two lifetimes in a very short period of time. What if months from now when the excitement and shock had died down, she came to regret tying herself to a person and a place who would serve as a constant reminder of the trauma she had undergone? Would she ever be able to feel safe with him again? The thought was enough to make Thomas long to go and gather her into a carriage this instant and race to a church, but could he do that to the woman he loved?

"Very well," he said at last, feeling a sadness descend on him even as he knew he was making the right choice. "I will obey your wishes."

"Good." Charles nodded again. "Now, if you don't mind showing me to a bedroom, I think I need to have a lie down. It has been quite the day for me as well."

"Of course," Thomas rose, taking a moment to fight the spinning that engulfed him as he did so, and showed him to a bedroom.

It was hours later, after he had bathed himself to the best of his ability with his bandaged arm and retired to his own bed that a noise startled him from his reverie. He had been unable to sleep, visions of his sister's lifeless body morphing into Rose's form and back again as he tried to come to terms with what had happened.

"Thomas," a small voice whispered from just inside his doorway, "are you awake?"

"Rose?" he asked, instantly alert and sitting up in bed.

The door clicked shut and could just make out her shape walking slowly across the room to his bed.

"Rose, what are you doing here?" he asked, reaching out instinctively none the less to take her hand and draw her down onto the bed. "Your father is just down the hall!"

"I know," she said, guilt clouding her voice. "But couldn't sleep. I had to see you. Thomas, I am so sorry."

"Sorry? For what my love?"

"Lucille. It is my fault..." Rose broke off as sobs wracked her.

"Oh, my love no. No, don't think such a thing."

"Then... you don't hate me?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Hate you? Rose, you are the dearest love of my life!" he swore, ignoring the pain as he pulled her to him. "I could never hate you, my love."

"I love you, Thomas," she told him, kissing him desperately. "I love you so much."

Rose was almost frantic as she laid down with him, burying her hands in his hair and kissing him as though her life depended on it. As he returned her embrace with as much energy as he had in him, he felt her cool hand slide down under the covers to discover his naked body. One of two eager strokes of her hand had him standing tall and hard, and she wasted no time in moving to straddle him, her virginal nightgown riding up around her hips. As he pressed his hips up, she lowered herself down in one swift motion onto his shaft, her back arching as she bit back a cry.

Wounded as he was, Thomas was more than happy to lie back and let him love take the lead. He was entranced with watching the silhouette of her body, just discernable from the moonlight coming through the window, as it moved up and down on him. His one strong hand rose to roam over her upper body as she rode him, running her own hands over his naked chest. It did not take long before he could feel himself reaching his peak. Desperately wanting to hold off until she had found her own release, he brought his fingers beneath her nightgown and found her clit. A few well timed strokes later, she was bending down to kiss him, that his mouth might swallow up her cries as she came apart around him. Holding her close, he thrust up into her a handful more times and felt himself spill inside her, moaning softly at how perfect she felt surrounding him.

"My love," he whispered as he stroked her hair. "My darling girl."

"I love you Thomas," she cooed back. "I love you."

He held her pressed to him until sleep took both of them at last, ending the longest day of his life. When he woke, she was gone from his bed, prudently returned to her own room across the hall. Were it not for the damp spot on his bedsheets, he could almost have thought he had dreamed it all. 

As he rose and began to prepare for the day, Thomas said a heartfelt prayer that it was not the last time he would hold her, trembling, in his arms.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rose and Thomas are forced to wait to be wed. How will she do away from him?

Rose lifted her face to the sun, ignoring the hours worth of warnings that had been drilled into her about the ill effects of doing so. If her skin freckled, then so be it. It would hardly be the worst situation she had endured in her recently.

It really was a glorious day out; so much so that she was almost cross with the weather for being so contrary to her mood. How was she expected to maintain her severe depression when the sun shone golden in a bright blue sky, hidden only by the occasional wisp of white puffy cloud passing overhead? Despite herself, she felt her spirits lift just the slightest bit as the scent of flowers filled her nostrils.

It had been a relief of sorts to be back at home. She missed Thomas desperately of course, but there was no denying that the creature comforts of her parent's country manor were far superior to the stark, decrepit beauty of Allerdale Hall. She had been angry about the terms that her father and Thomas had come to - not so much because she could not see the sense in them as because she had not been consulted about her own future. She knew her father well enough to guess that Thomas had not been given much of a say either, but at least he had been given the courtesy of a discussion, no matter how peremptory it was. Rose had been woken early, told to pack her bags, and was on the road a mere two hours later. She had blistered her father's ears for the majority of the first day until she saw how pale he was when they reached their inn. After that she had nothing but concern for the injured gentleman who she loved fiercely despite his highhanded ways.

That had been three months, two weeks, and four day ago. She could probably have quickly broken the time down further to hours and minutes, but she was attempting to preserve some dignity. In any case, it was more than two weeks past the point when Thomas was permitted to come and renew his proposal, and yet so far there had been no sign of her love. It was enough to make her weep with frustration. If only women could propose, she had thought more than once, she would have leapt on a horse long since and galloped off North.

She had hoped at first that she might be pregnant. That would have put a wrench in all of her father's careful planning. If Thomas had managed to get a child in her there would be no question about their future. The two of them would have been standing before a vicar the moment she told her parents the news. Her first fit of sobbing had come the morning she had awoken to a telltale red on her bed sheets and cramps in her midsection. Mary had found her, curled up and weeping, and quickly realized the cause. To her surprise, her former chaperone had soothed her in her disappointment, never once moralizing or displaying scandal that Rose had been hoping to be with child. She loved the woman all the more for that.

After that, there was nothing to do but wait. She was determined to marry Thomas, no matter how long her father made her consider. She wrote to him every day, even though she had no real news to report. She had to exercise discretion in what she committed to paper, as she suspected her father was not above reading her correspondence, but she tried to assure him in every letter that she still loved him desperately and wanted nothing more than to be his wife. If he still wanted her, that was.

His letters claimed that he did. Thomas did not write as frequently as Rose, but then he had more to occupy him. He had buried his sister in the family plot. Despite some rumors in the village that her wounds might have been intentionally self-inflicted his title was enough to secure Lucille a proper funeral with the local clergyman saying prayers for the departed's soul. Only Thomas and Gwen had attended the service. The little maid had declined Charles' very handsome offer, surprising them all by preferring to stay at her current position. She did add that she hoped to very soon be waiting on Rose when she became the new Mistress of the Hall.

After all had been sorted with Lucille, Thomas had thrown himself into his work. Of all the conditions decided by the men after they had sent her away like a child, Rose was most pleased with the fact that her father had funded Thomas' machine. While she didn't really understand half of what he wrote to her about it, she could feel his infectious excitement through his letters, and she knew that he would be toiling night and day to prove himself to both Charles and the wider world. She had no doubt, none, that he would succeed. She just hoped that his work would not obsess him to the point that he forgot about her.

As the months crawled on and his letters became less frequent, Rose had begun to fall into a malaise. She was peevish with everyone, a far cry from her usual sunny self. She spent most of her time either locked in her room writing to Thomas and rereading his letters, or taking solitary walks about the property like a tiger in the zoo, testing the boundaries of her prison. She knew that everyone was avoiding her, and could hardly blame them. She was not at all fit company. All she wanted was for the three months to be over so that she could be reunited with Thomas, assuming he still wanted her. He had her father's money for his invention, would keep it whether he wed her or not. He also had his freedom. For the first time in his life there was no dependent woman making demands on him. Would he find that he liked being able to do as he pleased, answerable to no one? Would he discover he preferred that and the opportunities it opened over being leg-shackled to a woman who reminded him of all the tragedy he had so recently left behind? Was that why he had failed to come and claim her?

Rose knew her mother was worried about her. She and her father had agreed that the less Iris Dewlawn knew about her daughter's adventures the better. Iris was a caring mother, but she worried a great deal. Delicate and prone to illness both real and imagined herself, she could not understand her daughter's more robust nature, particularly because Rose resembled her so much outwardly. She fretted and took to her bed over Rose's perceived melancholy, coupled with the alarming wound that Charles had somehow managed to acquire in his travels to retrieve their daughter. When she emerged days later, it was to insist that she had just the plan to restore Rose to good health. She was inviting Lord Simon Blithe, godson of her dear aunt Agatha, to visit. 

The fact that Lord Blithe was, in fact, not at all objectionable almost made his presence in their home worse. Rose found the Viscount kind, intelligent, and rather shy around her. While not nearly as handsome as Thomas - and really, who was - he was pleasant looking, with fair hair and a sturdy, athletic build. He never pressed his attentions on Rose, though he could be in no doubt why he had been invited to the country estate. Iris Dewlawn was hardly subtle in her matchmaking schemes. In any other situation, Rose would have been happy to have him as a friend. She might even, she found herself thinking one evening, have deemed him acceptable match at one point. Before she had met Thomas and lost her heart irrevocably. 

Now, seated in a secluded garden that was her mother's pride and joy, Rose groaned as she heard the heavy footfall announcing her would-be suitor's approach. A bit desperately she looked about, only to see what she already knew. There was but one path out of the small area in which she sat, and Lord Blithe was headed straight down it. There would be no means of easy escape.

"Oh, Miss Dewlawn," Simon said in obvious surprise as he found her sitting picturesquely on the wrought iron bench beneath a lattice of roses. "Forgive me, I had no intention to disturb you."

A blush colored Lord Blithe's face as he hastily sketched her a bow, clutching a large book to his chest as if it were a shield. She knew that manners demanded she invite him to sit, but she hated the idea of being in another man's company. She did not want to sit with him, she wanted to sit with Thomas!

"No need to apologize," she told him in a cool voice, rising to her feet, "I was just going."

With a crisp nod of her head she swept by him, ignoring the way he winced slightly at her clear snub. She had almost made good her escape when his deferential voice stopped her.

"Miss Dewlawn," he said carefully, concern clouding the words, "I fear I have offended you somehow. If so, please tell me how that I might right the situation."

"You have done nothing, Lord Blithe," she said tightly. "I assure you, there is nothing for you to fret over."

"And yet, for some reason my presence bothers you," he countered. "Pray, do not deny it. I see the way you avoid me. Miss Dewlawn, please believe that I have no intention to press an unwelcome suit on you. It was my understanding that you were desirous of a husband, and that our families thought we might suit. I know it is gauche to speak of such things in the open, but perhaps it is the best way none-the-less. While I am looking to marry, and value my Godmother's approval, I would never seek to attach a young woman who could not like me or does not wish to marry. Does that ease your mind? Will you be easier with me now?"

At the earnest kindness in his voice Rose felt her throat constrict and a treacherous tear begin to form in the corner of her left eye. 

"You must forgive me, Lord Blithe," she managed to say, fighting against the desire to flee. "I have behaved badly. I am sorry you were brought here on a useless errand. It was unfair to you."

"Then you do not wish to marry," he nodded, confirming his assumption.

"On the contrary," she said, losing the battle with her eyes as tears began to fall down her cheeks. "I want to marry very much."

"You do?" the poor man was clearly puzzled. "Then why..."

As he left the question unasked, Rose risked lifting her eyes to his open, friendly stare and knew that he saw, splashed across her face, if not the whole truth at least some large piece of it.

"Ah, I see," he nodded. "You have lost your heart already."

"I have," she said with a sob, the admission releasing the pent up emotion inside of her. "Oh, Lord Blithe I have lost it irrevocably."

"Miss Dewlawn," he fumbled, handing her his handkerchief, "pray, won't you sit down?"

Convulsing with huge sobs, Rose allowed him to draw her over to the bench and sit her down. After a brief hesitation, Simon perched on the edge next to her and took her hand in his in a comforting, brotherly fashion.

"May I ask who the gentleman is? Is that too great a presumption? I assume he is not eligible, or you would not be in such a state."

"He is," she gulped, struggling to breath as she wept into his linen. "He is a Baronet."

"Perhaps he is otherwise spoken for?" Simon suggested. 

"No, he is free to wed."

"Well then, Miss Dewlawn, if you will forgive me he is a fool. No man else would turn down the opportunity to wed one such as you. Believe me, women of such character do not come along often. I have looked."

"Oh, but I have been so horrible to you!" Rose cried. "How could you say so?"

"You have not been terrible," Simon demurred. "Only sad. I have wished only to lift that sadness."

"I wish you could," she managed a tremulous smile. "I wish you could make me forget him. That would make things so easy, so comfortable."

"But love is not always comfortable," he sighed. "Is there no hope then? For the two of you?"

"I don't know," she wailed, burying her head in her hands. "It is all so sordid and awful and glorious and beautiful. I don't know what to think."

"Miss Dewlawn," Simon said carefully, "I know that I am not to be your husband, and while that may disappoint me I accept it with grace, but may I not still be a friend? You can confide in me if you wish. I promise I will keep any confidence you honor me with."

Rose looked at him uncertainly. It had been driving her mad, the holding in of all the swirling emotions she was feeling. She had considered talking to Mary, but she knew the woman was dealing with her own trauma from having taken a life, even in necessity. Her relationship with her parents was loving, but not the type where sharing this sort of thing was done, and lord knew her younger brothers were not interested in her romantic life. Could she confide in this kind man who fate seemed to have dropped on her doorstep? 

"His name is Thomas," she said at last. "Sir Thomas Sharpe of Allerdale Hall."

"I have not heard the name," Simon said apologetically. "But then, I am not out in society much."

"Neither is he," Rose smiled. "He is poor, you see. Or was. He has money now for his machine, and I am convinced it will make his fortune."

"Machine?" Simon's brow drew together.

"He is an inventor," she replied, almost daring him to disparage the work. "An industrialist."

"How interesting!" Simon's voice rang with genuine admiration. "I have often wished that I possessed some skill of that nature."

It was all the encouragement she needed. With the eager excitement that all lovers have when the subject turns to their beloved, Rose began describing Thomas and her time at Allerdale Hall to her newly discovered friend. She did not tell him everything, of course. She had some discretion, and what little was left of her reputation had to be preserved for her parents' sake if not her own. Still, it felt so wonderful to talk to someone about Thomas and all the glorious things she adored in him. In the end she revealed far more than she intended, but Simon managed to hide his shock, graciously listening and offering a male perspective on what it must have been like for the lonely Baronet, forced to protect a sister who preyed on his kindness.

By the time an hour had passed, Rose and Simon were fast friends, even to the point of using each other's first names. Rose felt as though weight had been lifted from her shoulders. Speaking of Thomas had reminded her of the love that the two of them shared, and she was certain that whatever was keeping him from her side it was only a temporary delay. He would come to her as soon as he was able and they would be wed. 

It was in the happiest mood that she had felt in weeks that Rose walked back towards the house as the sun set. She knew she looked a fright, hair a mess and face flushed from her tears, but still she felt rejuvenated. Her hand tucked in Simon's arm as she laughingly chatted with him, she didn't notice the tall figure dressed in black who had just dismounted his horse until he was thundering towards them, murder in his visage, to slam his fist into Simon's startled face.

"Simon!" she shrieked, then looked up at his attacker to see the face she had most longed to see in the world glowering down at her where she knelt on the ground next to her newly made friend. "Thomas!"

"Ah, you remember my name," he said tightly. "That is something at least."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so I was once again going to end with this chapter, but decided that I need a little more time to settle things. I think this was why it took so long to write - I was trying to do it all in one chapter and it was just more than I had room for. Anyway, hope you don't mind that it will be a bit more. Plus, 30 is a much more neat, round number to end on!


	29. Chapter 29

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time to check in on Thomas and discover how he has been spending his time apart from Rose, as well as finding out if the two can get past his dramatic arrival at her home!

It was a long three months.

Thomas sometimes thought that he would flood his attic workshop, so often was he reduced to tears those first few months. He wept for his sister, for both the passionate child she had been when she was his fiercest protector, and for the tragic, troubled woman she had become as that passion curdled to turned bitter and violent. He could not help thinking that if he had heeded the warning signs, and lord knew there had been many, he could have gotten her the help she so desperately needed. He knew she had caused great harm to numerous people, but as the dust settled after her funeral he found only pain, sorrow, and love rather than hatred in his heart for her.

All of his moodiness was only enhanced by his inability to use his right arm. Thomas had always used his tinkering as a way to distract his busy mind, but with the sling immobilizing him all he was able to do was sit and brood. It was nigh on unbearable. His only distraction was scratching out letters to Rose with his weaker hand, but the frustration he felt as he scribbled like a child made him even more fractious.

Through all of this Gwen was a god send. The fierce little maid still had a hard time looking him in the eye, but she had no issue taking over the running of the house. Meals were prepared, his clothes were washed and pressed, and fires were lit in the few rooms he haunted like a lonely ghost.

When the funds arrived from Charles Dewlawn at the end of the second week, Thomas discovered that the old man had included an additional sum with instructions to use it to fix up the manor, "_so that should my daughter be the foolish romantic I take her for and decide to marry Sharpe, I will not have to worry about her living in squalor._" With the added money he was able to hire additional help. Soon Gwen's mother Tilly and brother Freddie were also in residence, serving as his housekeeper and new groom. In addition to his other few duties, Freddie put together a team of young men from the village and made short work in patching the roof so that snow and rain no longer fell into foyer. In no time at all he was living in a home that, while hardly warm and cozy, was at least sheltered from the elements. He wished watching others set his house to rights didn't make him feel so inadequate personally.

It was not until the second month that things began to really take a turn for the better. After Tilly, who seemed to have a gift for home remedies, pronounced his arm well on the way to mending, he was able to remove the cursed sling and begin rebuilding strength in his arm. That same week the first of his newly fashioned parts for the clay harvesting machine arrived, along with three burly workmen from one of Charles' factories to assist with the labor. While he was not quite up to doing the manual work himself yet, Thomas was on hand every moment of available daylight to supervise the adjustments to his prized invention.

When the inevitable darkness made it impossible to keep working out of doors he would retire with his supper to the attic and sit pouring over his plans, making adjustments based on the trial and error of the day. The harvester consumed him and ate into even his sleeping hours, causing him to acquire new circles beneath his eyes and an even thinner frame as he often skipped daytime meals to work on perfecting the machine. Tilly scolded him as only a mother of a brood of children knew how to do, but he couldn't seem to stop. He wanted it to be perfect and he only had a month left to make it so. All needed to be in place so that he could carry Rose, his darling, beautiful Rose, over the threshold into her new home as the wife of a successful industrialist rather than a penniless failure. 

The day he stood back and watched as the first canister of red clay was drawn up from the earth he thought he would disgrace himself with tears before the burly workmen. It had taken all that he had. Every scrap of energy, every last resource he could cobble together had gone into the harvester, but it had all been worth it. His work had paid off and he had been proven right.

Thomas was ebullient. He had made good on his promise to Rose. In less than a week he would be able ride to her father's home and formally ask for her hand. He would not have to beg as a pauper this time, but would be able to hold his head high as he worked out a timeline to begin paying Dewlawn back with interest on his wise investment.

It was therefore unfortunate in the extreme that a day before his intended departure it all began to catch up with him. The lack of sleep, the missed meals, not to mention the still mending gunshot wound, joined together and created the inevitable perfect storm of exhaustion. He could barely climb the stairs, much less sit a horse for a days long journey. Despite his grumbling protests, he reluctantly let Tilly and her children guide him to his bed, where the matronly woman announced imperiously that he would be staying for at least a week.

In the end he spent eleven days in the damn bed. His only comfort was reading Rose's letters. She had written him a heartwarming number of them, and though they were all perfectly correct he still flattered himself that he could hear her love in the things she did not say. It was not until the last batch of them, delivered mid-way through his convalescence, that he began to worry. Lord Simon Blithe, the Godson she had been traveling to meet when she landed on his door step, was paying her family a visit.

While Rose never said so, it was clear that Blithe was there to court her. The image of another man, well learned and charming from the few things she let slip, attempting to steal his love away from him filled Thomas with a burning rage and gnawing panic. That he should be so close, _so very, very close_ to achieving his hearts desire only to risk losing it to a rival was enough to drive him wild. 

"Very well, Sir Thomas," Tilly had said with a resigned sigh worthy of the stage when he had attempted to call for his horse to be saddled. "Be on your way then. I'll have Freddie follow in an hour or so to collect your body from the ravine it is sure to fall into once it gives out and slips from your horse's back. I'm sure your Miss Rose will look lovely in black while she mourns you."

Thomas had gnashed his teeth but allowed himself to remain in bed, cursing that fate could be so damnably cruel.

At last the day came when he could set off without fear of mishap. Thomas was saddled before dawn, riding at a punishing pace and leaving a flailing Freddie in his wake as he raced down the road towards his Rose. He resented greatly the need to stop at an inn, and spent a sleepless night on a bug infested mattress thinking of all the wonderfully deviant things he would do to Rose once she had taken his name and they were alone together. He rather thought that he would not let her leave their bedroom - oh, but that was a glorious phrase, _their bedroom_ \- for at least a week. He had wasted so much time without her, his body screamed to once more feel her writhing beneath him, to hear her calling out his name as she came undone around him, and to at last find release within her warm, welcoming walls.

It was when he at last passed into her section of the Cotswolds that Thomas began to experience doubts. What if he was too late? She was a passionate woman, his Rose. He had been separated from her months while another man had no doubt been paying her court. Had her family been after her to change her allegiance to the new suitor? Would the horror she had experienced at his sister's hands have soured her in retrospect on the time she had spent with him? Could his own inadequacy in reaching her as quickly as he had promised lose him his one shot at happiness? The questions echoed along with the pounding of his horses hooves inside his brain.

At last he was there. Her home was not the grand manor of Allerdale Hall, but rather a quaint, lovely old country home that sprawled out in a mismatch of styles on a picturesque stretch of verdant land. It looked as though it was straight from the pages of a story book, sitting atop a lush green hill and surrounded by gardens and wooded expanse. How could someone used to this warmth ever be content with the coldness of Thomas' home? Dread seeped into every vein as he approached the house and dismounted from his horse.

And then there she was, but she was not alone. He had pined for months, fantasizing about seeing her smile, hearing her laugh, and when he _finally _did, that lovely smile and delightful laugh were being lavished on another. A broad shouldered, fair haired, well dressed man was receiving the attention the Thomas so jealously coveted for himself. As the couple, for so they looked, walked out of what appeared to be a secluded arbor, Rose's hand was tucked securely into the man's arm and they exchanged a smile that spoke of more than distant acquaintance. What's more, on closer examination Thomas could see that Rose's hair was suspiciously mussed, and that her face showed a glowing pink shade that he had fantasized about repeatedly as he lay helpless in his bed remembering their days and nights together.

A bright, burning rage that began in the area of his chest surrounding his heart made its way through Thomas' body. This man, this undeserving cad was touching his Rose, sharing in intimacies that belonged to Thomas alone. With a snarl that was barely human Thomas strode across the drive, long legs making short work of the distance, and without a word drove his fist into the smugly smiling stranger's face.

"Simon!" Rose shrieked as the blond man fell in a satisfying heap on the ground. She dropped to her knees beside him, making Thomas' jaw clench with her obvious concern. Only when she had checked on the stranger did she finally raise her eyes to his. Instead of the love that he had been dreaming of, he saw shock and fury in shining in her face. "Thomas!"

"Ah, you remember my name," he said tightly. "That is something at least."

"Have you gone insane?" she demanded, rising to stand, hands on hips and glaring at him. "What on earth were you thinking?"

"I don't know, madam," he replied tightly. "Perhaps I was thinking that this _person_ had no right to be making so free with my intended's person."

"Of all the..." Rose's face was livid as she looked from him to the other man and helped him to rise. "Simon, are you alright?"

"I'm fine," the simpering fool said, hand rubbing his jaw in a way that filled Thomas with satisfaction. "This, I take it, is the Sir Thomas Sharpe you have told me of?"

"I am," he snapped before she had a chance to reply. "And I would thank you to keep your hands off of my fiancé."

"Oh, so I'm your fiancé, am I?" Rose demanded, eyes sparkling as she looked at him. 

"Of course you are," he glared back at her, itching to grab her and kiss her senseless, erasing this and any other man she might have come into contact with from her mind.

"Well, how fortunately for me, Sir, that you have finally taken time to remember me. I suppose I should be counting my blessings that you only left me stranded here for _two weeks _while you debated whether or not you wanted me."

"Twelve days," he corrected her, taking an involuntary step closer. "It has been twelve days since the embargo placed on you by your father was lifted, allowing me to pay my respects. Tell me, how many days into that did you abandon me for the nearest pair of broad shoulders you could find?"

"_How dare you_?" she seethed, magnificent in her anger.

"Rose," the lumbering interloper placed his hand on her shoulder and spoke her name, "it is all right."

"No, it is not," she said, voice softening distressingly as she spoke to his rival. "He hurt you."

"I have suffered worse in my day," the man shrugged. "Sir Thomas, allow me to introduce myself to you. I am Lord Simon Blithe."

"I assumed as much," Thomas said rudely, ignoring the proffered hand.

"Of course. Rose must have mentioned me in her letters."

"Indeed, _Miss Dewlawn _wrote to me of your presence. She did not, however, inform me of how intimate your relationship had become."

"Intimate!" Rose said with a world of recrimination in her voice. "I... I wish... Oh, you wretched man!"

With a strength he had not known she possessed, Rose reached back and slapped him square across the face before turning to march into her house, slamming the door behind her and leaving two stunned men standing in her wake, nursing their aching faces.

"My apologies, Lord Blithe," Thomas said at last, feeling as though his whole world had just been stripped away from him. "I suppose there is little reason for me to remain. Please, give my best to the family. I will write to Mr. Dewlawn shortly on matters of mutual business."

"Sir Thomas, I pray you, don't be an ass," Lord Blithe said, walking over to sit on the step of the entryway. 

"I beg your pardon?" he replied stiffly.

"I can only imagine, Sir, how this must have look to you. If I were fortunate enough to have won Miss Dewlawn's favor, only to be forced to part from her for months, I know that it would drive me near to madness. But you must believe me, there is nothing but friendship between me and Rose. On my word as a gentleman."

"And yet you use her Christian name," Thomas objected.

"As of this afternoon," Lord Blithe sighed. "After listening to her cry her heart out over you."

"She cried?" Thomas asked, suddenly struck with horrid mixture of guilt and hope.

"For an hour, at least," the other man nodded. "And this was hardly the first time, merely the first that I was allowed to offer some pour comfort. She has pined for you, Sharpe."

"Do not try to snow me, Lord Blithe," Thomas said, not ready yet to believe the words. "I know you were brought here to court her."

"So I was, but Rose would have none of it. I might have been your horse for all the interest she paid me. The only time she has spoken more words to me than manners dictated was this afternoon when she sang your praises. If I thought there was the slightest hope in it I should attempt to woo her away from you, but the sad truth is she is as constant as she is ardent in her affections. I must tell you, Sharpe, I am half tempted to hit you back given the hell you have put her through with your tardiness."

Thomas turned and paced the drive for a moment, letting the man's words sink into his thick skull. He had been so struck with the sight of Rose touching another man that he had let his irrational jealousy run away with him. What had he been thinking? Rose had never given him any reason to doubt her. It was his own knowledge of how little he deserved her that plagued him, not anything of her doing. Oh, he was the lowest creature to have ever walked the Earth!

"I am doomed," he said at last, sinking down beside Lord Blithe on the step.

"I would not say that," the man chuckled. "You have made a bit of an ass of yourself, but I am told that is not unusual when one is in love. You do love her, do you not?"

"Of course I love her," Thomas snapped. "She is my life."

"Very well then," Simon smiled. "I will help you. Come, I know where she will be sulking."

As the somewhat less loathsome than previously thought Lord Blithe led Thomas through the front door of the Dewlawn residence the strains of piano music drifted through the hall. Thomas winced at the way the notes were being played, skillfully but with a distinct _fortissimo_ that betrayed the anger of the musician. Rose's emotions, it seemed, were being channeled through her music and she was not in a happy place at the moment. When the gentlemen reached the door to the conservatory, Simon carefully opened it so that it did not make a sound. There, seated at a lovely grand piano with her back to them, Rose played her heart out in thunderous notes.

"I'll just leave you to it then," Blithe whispered to him, clapping him on the shoulder for luck before sauntering away. Almost, Thomas could learn not to hate the man.

Walking silently into the room, Thomas took his first moment to really look at the woman who had won his heart. Her head was bent towards her instrument, showing the graceful column of her neck. She had not taken the time to neaten her hair after the unpleasantness in the drive, and soft curls fell to halo her face. She was an angel, he thought. A creature too beautiful to exist in the real world. And yet there she was, a dream made flesh.

"Rose," he breathed when she finished, causing her to gasp and spin around on her bench.

"Thomas," she said, swallowing but making no other movement.

"I have been an ass," he told her, echoing Simon's words. "Darling, can you ever forgive me?"

"Why have you been away so long?" she asked, hands clasping and unclasping in her lap.

"I was ill," he admitted, hating that he was so week.

"Ill!" Rose leapt from her seat and crossed to him, staring into his eyes in fear. "Was it the bullet wound? It didn't become infected did it? Are you still unwell? Here, come sit. Oh, why didn't you tell me my love?"

"I am fine. Truly, Rose I am!" he insisted as she pulled him over to a divan against the near wall. "It was exhaustion, nothing more. The result of overworking myself to get the harvester up and running. I wound up in bed for a week or more regaining my strength. Otherwise, believe me love, I would have been here at first light of the first day I was allowed."

"Then... then you still want me?" she asked, her voice smaller and more meek than he had ever heard it.

"Want you?" he echoed in astonishment. "Rose, how could you even ask that? There is not now, nor could there ever be, anything in this life that I want more. You are the sum total of all my dearest desires, love. I will want you until the day I die and beyond. I only hope that you might find a place for me once more in your heart."

"Oh, Thomas!"

As he stared at her radiant face, Rose wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him for all she was worth. Thomas lost no time taking her in his arms, luxuriating in the thrill of relearning her soft curves. Her body molded tightly against him, and his hands roamed down her back and up into her hair. Unable to stop himself, he pulled her half up onto his lap, groaning into her mouth as her pert rear settled onto the hardness begging to be released from his trousers. 

"Marry me Rose," he growled into her ear as he trailed kisses down her neck. "Marry me or I swear, I will die from wanting you."

"Well," she sighed, giggling slightly, "I suppose I don't want to be responsible for your death."

"No," he agreed, nipping at her ear.

"In that case, I really have no choice."

"Meaning?" he pushed, cupping her breast in his hand and barely holding himself back from ripping off the covering bodice.

"Meaning, Sir Thomas," she smiled widely at him, "I will marry you."

"About damn time!" a rough voice called. "I thought I'd have to go fetch you myself!"

"Dewlawn," Thomas nodded to the old man leaning on the doorway.

"Sharpe," Charles replied. "Glad as I am that you finally managed to get your sorry self here, and resigned as I am that the gel agreed to take you, I would ask that you kindly refrain from pawing her like a tavern lout in my conservatory until after the wedding."

"I can promise nothing, sir," Thomas grinned, suddenly friends with the whole world.

"No, I wouldn't think you could," Dewlawn rolled his eyes expressively as Rose at last clambered off Thomas' lap, leaving him to fumblingly attempt to hide the tenting in his pants. "Well, go clean yourselves up. That's hardly how you want to meet your future mother-in-law."

Like a properly chastened school boy Thomas followed the man out of the conservatory, Rose's song ringing in his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope this makes you all as happy to read as it did me to write. There will be one less chapter, an epilogue of sorts to tie up things (and provide a final bit of smut). Thank you all so much for reading!!!


	30. Chapter 30

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding and a bedding, what more could one want?

Rose could say, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she was enjoying this carriage ride far more than the last one that had brought her from her father's home to the wilds of Allerdale Hall. The weather was fine, there were birds singing over head, and the local greenery showed all to its best advantage as the well sprung conveyance trundled down the hard-packed road.

Rose was aware of none of this. Her attention, all of it, was focused on the mop of dark tousled curls in which her fingers struggled to find an anchor as her handsome new husband wantonly planted kisses up her leg. Thomas could do such magical things with only his mouth and fingers, as he was demonstrating now. As she laid back along the seat, Rose struggled not to let her moans and cries edge up too loudly, lest the coachman hear her passion. Thomas, on the other hand, seemed gleefully intent on bringing out her vocal side.

"We will scandalize the driver!" Rose had giggled earlier when Thomas had first begun lifting her skirts.

"We are married now, love," he told her, holding her down with his large hand. "This is not only expected, it is encouraged!"

"Not in a moving carriage!" 

"Shall I ask him pull over?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Thomas!" the name came out more like a moan than she intended as he had run his deft fingers over her suspiciously damp knickers.

"Yes wife?" he smiled at her.

"Can't you behave?"

"Do you really want me to?"

"N-nooo," she admitted, as he pulled down her underthings to allow himself better access.

"Than lie back and let me have my mid-day snack, my darling wife."

He had been calling her that constantly these past two days. It was as though he needed to say the word out loud repeatedly to convince himself it was true. Rose could understand. She had found her own eyes drifting repeatedly to the delicate, flower-shaped ring that encircled her ring finger. The moment that Thomas had slid it on her finger had been the happiest of her life.

The wedding had been small. Neither of them had a wide circle of friends or family, and Thomas was still technically in morning. Three days after Thomas' arrival at her parents' home they had stood before the altar in the small jewel box of a chapel on the estate as the afternoon sun slanted through the stained glass windows. Rose, dressed in a cornflower blue dress that brought out her eyes, was radiant if exhausted as she walked down the aisle on her father's arm.

She had been far too excited to sleep the night before. She and Thomas had been through so much to find their happy ending, she could not help the sliver of paranoia that fretted some last minute, unforeseen horror would rear up to spoil things. It was only the arrival of her mother, clearly anxious and visibly tipsy, that had offered her any distraction. With dawning horror, Rose had realized that Iris Dewlawn was there to have "the talk" with her. Desperately, Rose sought a way to delicately let her mother know that such a conversation was not necessary, but Iris ignored all of her attempts, determined to get the difficult task over with as quickly as possible.

"He will want to lie with you," her mother began, fidgeting with her lace cuff. "You will have heard rumors, of course, about this. We have not kept you in seclusion, after all. Do not let the whispers scare you, dear. It can be quite enjoyable, even for the woman, if you work at it together. Of course, Thomas is young, so he might still have much to learn, but if you give him time to practice it may be something you even come to look forward to. He is, after all, a very handsome boy."

Sighing now as her husband "practiced" by licking a long stripe over her folds as his thumb dallied with her clit, Rose suppressed another giggle at the well-meant but completely unnecessary advice. If he got any better at this, she thought, she would never let him get any work done. She would keep him pleasuring her day and night. 

Raising his head momentarily, he lifted an eyebrow at her snickering.

"Something amusing, wife?" he asked her, tongue wiping across his glistening lips.

"Just something my mother said," she replied innocently. 

"You are thinking of your mother?" his brow rose even higher. "Now? I must be out of practice."

Which, of course, led to a peal of laughter on her part that she refused to explain. With a growl of determination, Thomas lowered his head and redoubled his efforts, changing her laughs to gasps in no time.

She closed her eyes and thought of how beautiful he had looked, standing at the end of the aisle in his all black attire. He was like a prince from some dark fairy land, too handsome to be human. He had smiled a private little smile just for her as his eyes swept up and down her length and then caught her own in a glance so intimate she thought it might be sacrilegious to exchange it in a church. Standing next to him, amusingly acting as his groomsman, Simon had blushed when he caught the glance. She was happy that the two of them had become something close to friends despite their rather rocky beginning. Simon was even planning to visit them in the autumn, curious to see first hand the inventions that he had heard so much about. Not for a few months, though. The bride and groom were determined to have some happy alone time before they allowed the wider world to enter into their bliss.

The ceremony itself had gone by in a blur. She remembered nothing but the constant lock of Thomas' gaze on her own, the low, steady timbre of his voice, and the moment when he slipped the ring onto her hand, symbolizing the commitment they were making to each other. As the Vicar pronounced them man and wife, his face had split into a dazzling smile that put the bright sun to shame. He had not even waited for the instructions before sweeping her into his arms and searing a kiss onto her lips that promised all the joys to come that he could not name in church.

"Why have you stopped?" she demanded, as Thomas abruptly pulled back from where he had been moments away from sending her into sheer bliss.

"The carriage has stopped," he told her, quickly setting her skirt to rights as she blinked at him senselessly. "I believe we are home, Lady Sharpe."

It was true. While she had been lost in the wonder of her husband's ministrations, they had passed the final miles to the huge edifice that would now serve as home to them both.

"Can't you tell him to drive around a bit more?" she asked, a bit of a sulk in her voice. "I was so very close!"

"And you thought I would embarrass the groom!" he laughed, opening the door and kicking down the steps. "Come now, my lady, I promise our bedroom will be much more comfortable for us both."

Shivering at the words "our bedroom" and all that they implied, Rose allowed him to help her down the box stairs. When she had almost alit, however, Thomas reached down and swept her into his arms, lifting her with just a slight twinge in his mending arm.

"I have had some improvements made," he told her as he carried her across the yard. "And you will have free hand in redecorating as you like as the profits from the clay begin to come in."

The pride in his voice warmed Rose as much as the sun. The house did look more welcoming, less ominous in the late Spring day than it had in the cold of Winter. She could see that small repairs, be it to a broken step or a wobbly rail, had been made to the edifice, and she understood his pride was not only for the machine but that he had a better home to offer her.

As they approached the doorway, it was wrenched open by a young man who looked strangely familiar, but whom she was sure she had never met before. He pulled at his forelock and bowed as he held the door for Thomas to carry Rose through and into the grand foyer.

"Sir Thomas, Milady," he youth said in an excited voice. "Welcome home. Everything is as you requested, Sir."

"Thank you Freddie," Thomas smiled at the boy, who grinned and bowed again, shutting the door behind them. "We are not to be disturbed for the rest of the day."

"Thomas, put me down and introduce me!" Rose insisted, hitting him lightly on his chest.

"No time, darling," he replied. "Important things to do. Freddie will wait, won't you Freddie?"

"Of course sir," the young man nodded, as Thomas ignored her pleas and ascended the stairs.

He carried her straight to the master bedroom, deaf to her requests to stop and examine changes made to the now sparklingly bright windows or the polished beauty of the banister. When he had kicked the door shut behind them, he crossed the room in a single stride and dropped her down onto the large bed that monopolized the room. As she felt the mattress give softly beneath her, Rose realized that it was not the lumpy, outdated bed she had been expecting.

"Well, this is comfy!" she sighed, burrowing into the feather mattress.

"We will have to wait to replace most things," he told her, tossing off his hat and stripping his coat from his broad shoulders. "But I thought that, considering the amount of time I plan to spend in here with you, the new bed should be among the first purchases."

The heat in his voice and eyes were doing things to Rose. She was already in state of heightened arousal from his attentions in the carriage, and as he ran his eyes down her body where she lay in the middle of the massive bed, she lifted her hips instinctively, jealous for his body on top of her.

"I have dreamed of this since the day you arrived on my door step in the storm," he told her, slowly untying his cravat. "When I carried you to the guest room, I wanted nothing more than bring you here instead. To lay you down on my bed and make you mine forever."

"I am," she told him in a breathy voice. "Oh, Thomas, I am."

"I thought this day would never come," he went on, tearing open his white linen shirt and moving to kneel on the bed beside her. "I was not deserving of so great a miracle. My sins were too many. But you are here, Rose. You are here with me, and I will spend the rest of my life making sure you never regret taking me."

Leaning down to cage her upper body with his arms, Thomas kissed her long and hard, dominating her mouth with his own. Rose surrendered completely, opening to his mastery and giving herself up to his passion. Her hands snaked around his body under his open shirt and ran down the muscled plains of his back, loving the feel of his skin. He gave her a moment of rest from his onslaught, but only to reach down and pull her traveling dress up and over her head. She was momentarily thankful that she had chosen a simple sift for the journey, but before she had even had time to complete the thought her breast was in his greedy mouth and all coherent thinking was washed away.

"All of this," he told her, releasing her nipple to toy with the other. "All of this beauty, and the heart and mind inside of it. I never knew I could love anything so much."

"I love you too," she whispered. 

He kissed her neck, sucking on her pulse point and making her cry out. With slow, deliberate thoroughness he then proceeded to kiss his way down her body, taking his time on all of her most sensitive areas. She could feel his erection hard against her through his trousers, but he made no move to free himself, instead contenting himself with relearning every inch of her body. They had made love last night, of course, and this morning. But it had been in an inn, the bed uncomfortable and the light dim. Now, in their own room, he could see and appreciate her fully.

"Thomas," she groaned, the beginnings of frustration seizing her.

"Yes, wife," he grinned as he kissed her navel.

"I need you," she whined, uncaring at the desperate note in her voice. 

"You have me, love," he told her, swiping a lick just over her mound.

"_Inside me_," she specified, as if he didn't know what she meant.

"Do you now? Well, I suppose that could be arranged. If you ask nicely."

"Please, Thomas," she begged, dignity in pieces. "Please take me, husband."

"How could I ever say no to that?"

Eyes blown wide, he hastily stripped his breaches and she gave a throaty sigh at the sight of his aroused cock. She had never realized how beautiful the male form was before she met him, but truly, it was a work of art. Function proving just as impressive as form, he lined himself up with her entrance, coating his cock head with her slick, and then slowly, with great control, sunk inch by inch into her depths.

"Oh, God," he groaned as he bottomed out. "I will never get used to that. To how perfect you feel as you stretch to take me in."

Kissing her lips tenderly, he began to rock in and out of her, body sliding along hers and stimulating her skin. She was so full, so complete with him locked inside her walls, and he knew just the right angle so that he hit her pleasure center with every thrust. Crying out shamelessly, Rose ran her hands down his back to grab his firm ass, loving the feel of it. He grunted in reply and sped up his rhythm, spurred on by her responses. Soon her legs were lifted to wrap over his shoulders, her body almost folded in half as he rutted into her, the romantic lover turned all but animalistic in his need to slake his lust with her. Rose found her need just as great, and her hips lifted to meet his every thrust. When she at last felt her release over take her, she screamed out without a care for who heard, luxuriating in letting her pleasure sing out. A few irregular pumps later and Thomas let loose a cry of his own, her name and a string of curse words filling the air around them.

When they lay, sometime later, wrapped in each other, Thomas placed a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"You have no regrets?" he asked her, a thread of worry in his voice.

"I have a mountain of them," she laughed, causing him to sit up and stare at her. "But not a single one has to do with marrying you. I have never been more sure of anything else in my entire life. You are mine, Sir Thomas Sharpe."

"Always," he replied, eyes seriously. "Always yours, my dearest love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it, my dears! I hope you have gotten as much happiness out of Thomas and Rose I I have. And to think this started as a short! Thank you for sticking with the story to the end. I love you all.


End file.
